tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16119176136336684672024-03-12T21:48:54.874-04:00The Nomadic Pinoywhere do I go next?The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.comBlogger473125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-36964996393489435632013-10-28T00:00:00.000-04:002013-10-28T19:07:51.728-04:00Fall Foliage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's autumn, one of my favorite seasons (the other being spring). Cooling temperatures are here which heralds one of nature's most spectacular, if temporal, shows. I'm talking of course about <b>fall foliage</b>. The northeastern United States is thankfully teeming with these broad-leafed trees - sugar maple, white ash, sycamore, northern red oak, white poplar, to name a few - whose riot of colors become a dazzling display at its peak.<br />
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While Manhattan already has leafy Central Park for those who can't escape away, my friends and I wanted to take our viewing further into upstate New York. It so happens a number of boating companies offer seasonal sailing going upstream on the Hudson river. What really nailed it for me was an email from <a href="http://www.goldstar.com/new-york">Goldstar</a> alerting me to a very limited discounted cruise on <b><a href="http://www.circleline42.com/new-york-cruises/cruise-details.aspx?id=7">Circle Line</a>.</b> Instead of a pricey $50, we will each pay $25 for the roundtrip cruise which includes a 3-hour stop at Bear Mountain State Park. Deal!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midtown Manhattan (with Intrepid Museum in the foreground)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Washington Bridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Palisades</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manhattan fades away as we sail along The Palisades</td></tr>
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Based on the long line at check-in, it's evident how popular this cruise is. It's actually sold out for the next 2 weekends. Promptly at 9:00 AM,<i> "Circle Line Brooklyn"</i> anchored away from Pier 83. Our boat sailed past the Intrepid Museum and a docked Norwegian Breakaway cruise ship before going full throttle. I venture into the bow along with the others. The Hudson river, brown as I always remember it, immediately treats those not wearing layers with shivering gusts. <br />
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After passing beneath GWB (George Washington Bridge), I was thrilled to finally get a sense of what early explorers have gazed upon centuries before me. <b>Henry Hudson</b> - for whom the river was named after - was a 17th century English explorer who sailed here in his search for the Northwest Passage to Asia but instead found himself U-turning upon reaching present-day Albany (New York's capital). He and his crew must've gawked at what's now known as <b>The Palisades</b> - a line of steep cliffs along New Jersey's side of the river, a geologic wonder that almost got lost to quarrying during the 19th century's Industrial Revolution.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting closer to Bear Mountain and the bridge named after it</td></tr>
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With the changing colors of the foliage, The Palisades look even more eye-catching everyone braves the cold to get out on the sundeck and take photos of the cliffs and do lots of selfies. I bumped into Justin and Susana, the young couple I met in El Nido, Philippines last year and whom I've met on two other occasions in New York. Being savvy backpackers themselves, they too jumped on the Goldstar alert. <i>"No way we'd pay fifty bucks for this"</i>, Justin confides. I couldn't agree more.<br />
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From its mouth in the Atlantic to its source at Henderson Lake, the river runs 315 miles of sinuous turns. Our cruise barely takes a third of the way to Albany, taking us two and half hours to reach the dock at Bear Mountain or about 40 miles from where we started. It was definitely about time we disembark from the boat and stretch our legs by walking.<br />
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This being October, something nice was brewing besides the foliage: the annual <b>Oktoberfest </b>at Bear Mountain State Park. We walked up the hill for about 15 minutes, getting great views of Bear Mountain Bridge and the Hudson river. Festivity was in full swing by the time we reached the venue. There was live German music and lots of stalls selling stuff not really related to Germany. We immediately queued for food and beer and snagged a table in one of the tents. It was crowded - more people drove here than we expected. <br />
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After chowing down on bratwurst and peirogies and gulping down on draft beer, we decided to walk around the lake to kill the time before returning to the boat. There are several trails going up the adjacent mountain, even a section of the legendary <b>Appalachian Trail</b> but which unfortunately we have no time for. We sauntered on the lake shore for over an hour while feeling fortunate we lucked out with the weather. Not wanting to get left behind, we made it back to the boat fifteen minutes before sailing back to the Big Apple.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-25429385572639811152013-10-20T00:00:00.000-04:002014-10-26T17:39:55.170-04:00Kenai Fjords National Park<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Sailing on Aialik Bay from Seward, on a sunny mid-September, I'm thrilled not only because of the perfect weather but because there are new things to see and learn at <b>Kenai Fjords National Park</b>. Carved eons ago by slow-moving glaciers and colliding tectonic plates, what used to be valleys are now filled with frigid ocean waters. Long steep-sided fjords are chiseled inland revealing quiet rugged coves and bays. Coastal peaks loom all over Kenai peninsula's southeastern edge while its emerald shores are dotted with solitary isles. <br />
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Aboard the catamaran <i>Orca Voyager</i> operated by <b><a href="http://www.kenaifjords.com/day-cruises/national-park-tour/">Kenai Fjords Tours</a></b>, I join other guests taking a 6-hour day cruise ($149+ adults/ $74.50+ kids) in<b> </b>Alaska's smallest among its eight designated national parks and the closest to Anchorage. But don't get the "smallest" fool you. This is Alaska after all where the wilderness seem to go on forever. The national park, established in 1980, is a 600,000-acre natural beauty encompassing the best of what there is to see in coastal Alaska. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trip begins at Seward marina</td></tr>
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Joining the cruise is pretty straightforward after making online reservations. An hour at least prior to 11:30 AM departure, guests are required to check-in at the Kenai Fjords Office right next to the bustling marina. There's also an adjoining gift shop for last minute shopping - perhaps forgotten an extra layer to stay warm? While I came prepared for the elements, I unfortunately forgot my zoom lens when I switched camera bags at home - hence no close ups of any wildlife on this trip. I soon found myself envying other guests with their full armada of camera equipment.<br />
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As the captain starts his tour narration, heads turn in every direction as the sights began marching by. I slipped into my down jacket as the boat gains speed and the frigid headwinds howled upon my face. There's no denying the fact that somewhere up on those peaks, is the park's frozen crown jewel - <b>Harding Icefield</b> - one of the 4 remaining in the United States and the motherload of all glaciers tumbling down into the sea. Even at 300 square miles of ice, the icefield is but a remnant of the last Ice Age.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view along Resurrection Bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aialik Bay</td></tr>
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Our boat skimmed past <b>Bear Glacier</b> - the biggest coming off the icefield - with visible icebergs floating away. The crew meanwhile began distributing complimentary lunch served on a plastic basket: chicken Caesar wrap, baby carrots and a granola bar (Later in the afternoon, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies were handed out as well). Closer to shore we moved as we spotted out first wildlife encounter for the day - a solitary harbor seal sunbathing on a rock. Everyone moved port side in silence while cameras clicked noisily.<br />
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Turning a sharp right after passing more rocky islands, we're now entering <b>Aialik Bay</b> with its numerous coves looking like tentacles when viewed mid-air from an airplane. The captain suddenly slows down the boat as seabirds like horned puffins and gulls were right out front frolicking themselves in the water. On a nearby crag was a colony of fish-eating cormorants - famous for their ability to swoop down and dive as deep as 45 meters to catch a meal! Much as I'd like a closer picture of these birds, I could only manage with what my lens could capture.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYRK7qGMw_padKtFdHZia1WCMqE5liOzPsl-dAv-8kfrbxKQ1gpzK_u1-w-ES7hr2mJANdWL8BfmgLFlasPYuYQdsCf7ArBBnPNFDaTYy7jJAAiRItmY-CU-gOhVOB-Tycz9us8StnrI/s800/DSC_6238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYRK7qGMw_padKtFdHZia1WCMqE5liOzPsl-dAv-8kfrbxKQ1gpzK_u1-w-ES7hr2mJANdWL8BfmgLFlasPYuYQdsCf7ArBBnPNFDaTYy7jJAAiRItmY-CU-gOhVOB-Tycz9us8StnrI/s1000/DSC_6238.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aialik Bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhrdLKLAmCyDrfc14atRiZ8Rjv8wooeLB4U7cwq0eoi8U4DNmGiaAMUOqq72Mq9Gj0QC6K5qBuvvIbG4SzQlNC-dAGa27DZIV-cZaNwu2hN3Hc8iwK2hJzRwbzlV9-rRKXOW_cVVuBXk/s800/DSC_6226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhrdLKLAmCyDrfc14atRiZ8Rjv8wooeLB4U7cwq0eoi8U4DNmGiaAMUOqq72Mq9Gj0QC6K5qBuvvIbG4SzQlNC-dAGa27DZIV-cZaNwu2hN3Hc8iwK2hJzRwbzlV9-rRKXOW_cVVuBXk/s1000/DSC_6226.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harbor seal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZuDa_Uz1gLFnufH32cQX56PUz16ZgAAYk3Y3gtm0U_j47G1NzCM45EkxpEAM5jbP_H4dMXhBXNVJ42fwBoLkQIMy4n0DYG6Th1gkuaWNmeTIjN8VL_CFM5mte2mKMeK7mZrBTZmEyXo/s800/DSC_6261_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZuDa_Uz1gLFnufH32cQX56PUz16ZgAAYk3Y3gtm0U_j47G1NzCM45EkxpEAM5jbP_H4dMXhBXNVJ42fwBoLkQIMy4n0DYG6Th1gkuaWNmeTIjN8VL_CFM5mte2mKMeK7mZrBTZmEyXo/s1000/DSC_6261_1.jpg" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cormorants</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMKRXtSr4dRjabFCfJ4VuWoHnt07xNwt-ujaCJ5wgR_uJ1q0F1FvqSn9Nl71fOBHRhlZ_97hXaboEfRFkhBXQPT3XWHAV4ruZI8_K0Wp70AhyHwZZW3DBdEn5eNECgTr3VeiMYEdjX1Y/s800/DSC_6364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMKRXtSr4dRjabFCfJ4VuWoHnt07xNwt-ujaCJ5wgR_uJ1q0F1FvqSn9Nl71fOBHRhlZ_97hXaboEfRFkhBXQPT3XWHAV4ruZI8_K0Wp70AhyHwZZW3DBdEn5eNECgTr3VeiMYEdjX1Y/s1000/DSC_6364.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A humpback whale barely surfacing to blow off</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKSqt1_rBWgt8FaEH7AHwqwcXQEzcmXeq1p7_hiEkdfF3xmZhNP8X4J0CVdmOlc6CPoovU7CmjCfLLUJ4zKtypv4PnDFKCqsMpRvJJH06DKsA-oHidhTOQOSZRNpMQRR6jFUiaDfxL3g/s800/DSC_6373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKSqt1_rBWgt8FaEH7AHwqwcXQEzcmXeq1p7_hiEkdfF3xmZhNP8X4J0CVdmOlc6CPoovU7CmjCfLLUJ4zKtypv4PnDFKCqsMpRvJJH06DKsA-oHidhTOQOSZRNpMQRR6jFUiaDfxL3g/s1000/DSC_6373.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steller sea lions</td></tr>
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Several minutes later, the captain beckons everyone to move starboard as a humpback whale was sighted blowing at the surface to breathe. The captain carefully maneuvers the boat in order not to disturb this huge animal. Many humpback whales spend its summer in Alaskan waters feeding on small schooling fish before journeying far away to the Hawaiian islands for winter. Unfortunately, no whale breaching occurred, no acrobatics to wow us all, so we had to contend with just seeing part of its head barely above the water. Then it was gone.<br />
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Moving deeper into the long arm of the fjord, we were rewarded with views of <b>Holgate</b> and <b>Pedersen Glacier</b>s. The boat slows down again as we were just within a stone's throw away from several sea otters basking in the glorious midday sun. Despite being the smallest marine mammals, I learned from the captain they are equipped with a very dense fur highly sought by fur traders. They were hunted extensively almost to extinction between mid-18th century to early 20th century - thus their endangered status today.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQpzxxL1-Th9MVtJQbgWMsDwANjs2NcaJKtyHoycetgH3CEVr1A-a9Fj8ATzmKapTrR-JfheOj9Ecr72hMXeJxv3HsMYOBVpD5vmlD-_d4csyDAUdk25h2HAM22MIxa3m1AKvx-TUsNQ/s800/DSC_6287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQpzxxL1-Th9MVtJQbgWMsDwANjs2NcaJKtyHoycetgH3CEVr1A-a9Fj8ATzmKapTrR-JfheOj9Ecr72hMXeJxv3HsMYOBVpD5vmlD-_d4csyDAUdk25h2HAM22MIxa3m1AKvx-TUsNQ/s1000/DSC_6287.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holgate Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4wdUhIV8NDigQrHxPy-F39Kbk8ru34aD-sO0Ee34fgmOrmVgvQpSxiRD8W0CvsquBZkbdrjj_dHIa2lPOEBTrG-GZpsOKvVGEAzb3zuhVGyaQZ-zGLIHP7OUSknOJlUe1VVedu9qf9o/s800/DSC_6292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4wdUhIV8NDigQrHxPy-F39Kbk8ru34aD-sO0Ee34fgmOrmVgvQpSxiRD8W0CvsquBZkbdrjj_dHIa2lPOEBTrG-GZpsOKvVGEAzb3zuhVGyaQZ-zGLIHP7OUSknOJlUe1VVedu9qf9o/s1000/DSC_6292.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pedersen Glacier. A pair of sea otters float in the foreground.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuaCk_Z8k927a8R54GO_osiewhkgFB818wUhu4my8-0IugVMk6K9dxywJP0STtugR9rw8vxzPKSIPzPJQtAX6TMZoZxGl3YC0IwNpDSRVOgFdGPTNyOEHLmwYnq8vHZQlViFHu96QtnE/s800/DSC_6305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOuaCk_Z8k927a8R54GO_osiewhkgFB818wUhu4my8-0IugVMk6K9dxywJP0STtugR9rw8vxzPKSIPzPJQtAX6TMZoZxGl3YC0IwNpDSRVOgFdGPTNyOEHLmwYnq8vHZQlViFHu96QtnE/s1000/DSC_6305.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aialik Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkMQ-hPo66E79n3erpTLnkHOj2TUKjZBnHcUFlrBdXldfaO7HxEQf1AX69qD9ctMQGy4SOkgcRh86kPn8UWUSkj6mMB5UF12D2aVUbUT2X7OvAyz-ek1EELOzCL-RW2YYQO2SGJwmS4Q/s800/DSC_6333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkMQ-hPo66E79n3erpTLnkHOj2TUKjZBnHcUFlrBdXldfaO7HxEQf1AX69qD9ctMQGy4SOkgcRh86kPn8UWUSkj6mMB5UF12D2aVUbUT2X7OvAyz-ek1EELOzCL-RW2YYQO2SGJwmS4Q/s1000/DSC_6333.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not everyday one gets to see this</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJGkibJ6W1BdYDp40whotYJi1VUcFsfEKRdQR3wLHo9gY9ZVG8SCligxyEkaxjp34x0syL5zBpQqtUkwJXsq1OSZy_MWAsKav4LHJl8KwRna_ydcMfHZvt80ZAXu-HKrejOVLW_eZ6OY/s800/DSC_6349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJGkibJ6W1BdYDp40whotYJi1VUcFsfEKRdQR3wLHo9gY9ZVG8SCligxyEkaxjp34x0syL5zBpQqtUkwJXsq1OSZy_MWAsKav4LHJl8KwRna_ydcMfHZvt80ZAXu-HKrejOVLW_eZ6OY/s1000/DSC_6349.JPG" height="540" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like any active glacier, calving does happen at Aialik Glacier</td></tr>
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At the very end of this fjord is <b>Aialik Glacier. </b>Flowing down ever so slowly for 4 miles down Harding Icefield, measuring some 300-400 feet high from the water surface and stretching for more than a mile wide, this is the largest tidewater glacier in the national park. It creaks, groans, cracks and calves into the frigid water, sending everyone in a state of excited anticipation. The captain stops the boat for a good half-hour to get the most of this icy sightseeing amidst 'bergy bits' all around. Then it was time to go back to Seward.<br />
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Undoubtedly, this 100-mile cruise on the <i>Orca Voyager</i> was a pretty punctuation mark on my quick visit to Alaska. A big thanks go to to<b> <a href="http://www.kenaifjords.com/">Kenai Fjords Tours</a></b> for helping make this happen and of course to the heavens for the unbelievably beautiful weather.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-65542996249182731882013-10-08T00:00:00.000-04:002013-10-08T21:58:10.160-04:00Slow Scenic Ride to Seward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On a train, it's always about the journey, not the destination. We're talking here of IMAX-worthy scenery. Lots of it. One where speed is almost irrelevant, one where time hardly matters. In the past, I've been on the<i> PeruRail</i> from Aguas Calientes to Cuzco, and the <i>Golden Pass </i>from Lucerne to Geneva: two train rides I vividly remember for the amount of time I looked outside my window.<br />
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Since I'm in Alaska again, I was keen on taking a rail journey this time. Alaska's early years since becoming an American acquisition from Tsarist Russia developed in part due to railroad business. A line was built from coastal<b> </b>Seward all the way to the northern interior in Fairbanks 470 miles away. Ninety years since operations began in 1923, the <a href="http://www.alaskarailroad.com/travel/OurTrains/RailbeltMap/tabid/319/Default.aspx"><b>Alaska Railroad</b> </a>continues offering both passenger and freight services today.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anchorage Depot</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collecting tickets at the Anchorage Depot</td></tr>
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Summer is when most trains operate with one running only during winter. After finding out that the <b><a href="http://www.alaskarailroad.com/travel/OurTrains/CoastalClassic/tabid/100/Default.aspx">Coastal Classic</a> </b>route<b> </b>between <b>Anchorage</b> and<b> Seward</b> is considered one of North America's most scenic, I knew right away I had to be on this train. There are two classes of service: "Adventure Class" ($79) and "GoldStar Service" ($129). I booked the cheapest. As it turns out, this was to be the season's last run of the Coastal Classic before returning late May next year.<br />
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An hour before departure, I walked the short distance from the hotel to the Anchorage train station to check-in and collect my boarding pass. The process was orderly for everyone and after waiting in the lobby, announcements were made for boarding. I got to my assigned window seat just as the train was ready to depart promptly at 6:45 AM. The train wasn't full and I even had no seatmate.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Adventure Class</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="st">Wilderness Café</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="st">Wilderness Café</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Coastal Classic at Turnagain Arm</td></tr>
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The Coastal Classic runs 114 miles from Anchorage to Seward, taking a leisurely 4-hour scenic chug (as opposed to driving a car which takes 2 hours and a half taking a divergent route about a third of the way). The sun hasn't risen yet as the train pulls away from the station, blasting its horns loudly enough for everyone in the neighborhood to hear. The train runs briefly alongside the <i>Tony Knowles Coastal Trail</i> before turning inland and into a residential neighborhood still asleep.<br />
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Having not eaten breakfast yet, I venture into the train's <i>Wilderness Cafe</i>. There's a proper dining room on the lower deck of the train's "GoldStar Service" dome car but there's some waiting involved for those of us in "Adventure Class". I bought a cup of yogurt parfait and just sat in the cafe while waiting for my turn, enjoying the view as the train begins hugging on a branch of the Cook Inlet known as the <b>Turnagain Arm</b>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turnagain Arm</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turnagain Arm</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining Car</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brekkie: scrambled eggs, potatoes, cheese and reindeer sausage</td></tr>
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Just as the views kept getting better, an onboard tour guide's voice crackles on the PA, alerting passengers of photo ops along the way. While the train navigated empty coves and rocky shores and the nearby peaks turned golden with the rising sun, I made a dash for the open vestibule between cars where I took photos very easily. The autumnal air was chilly of course and that's where wearing in layers come in handy. <br />
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As an attendant finally escorts me to the dining car, the train slowly stops to allow passengers a better view of bald eagles perched on a nearby tree. At that point I wasn't running back to the vestibule with my camera so I sat contentedly while a very attentive waiter took my order for brekkie. I had the tasty "Sunrise Skillet" with reindeer sausage ($14) which fueled me for the rest of the morning.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spencer Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the tunnels</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bartlett Glacier</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail Glacier</td></tr>
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After a brief stop in the ski-resort town of <b>Girdwood </b>where a few more passengers boarded, the train ambled on, swaying gently sideways as it began moving up the valley hemmed in by the Kenai mountains, diverging away from the main road. Many "Adventure Class" passengers like me were hardly on their seats at this time - many were on vestibules or at the Vista Dome car or at the very end of the last car.<br />
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Mountains march on as the train gradually climbed, eventually giving us a view of <b>Spencer Glacier</b>, the first of three on this route. We soon followed the course of <b>Placer River Gorge</b>, entering a series of tunnels much to the delight of young passengers. Even just as exciting for those who want to see a sweeping view of the moving train were the S-curves shortly after. <b>Bartlett Glacier</b> appeared so close here - unsurprisingly, its terminus is only 800 feet away from the tracks. After going through another mountain pass, we emerged into this beautiful valley surrounded by alpine meadows and a view of the <b>Trail Glacier</b>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPkb1F2f03QANuLpJU3DleYSppzt3CLlskAr5cUzjPoguk2i1nEYjecFVtrcHluUjmAz9F1BxGKILYip38Hwn1K5T0a3huVdqkB1eK9eSrrNGDNbUPIjqmI5nRaX_RfbceINJbDMHDBA/s800/DSC_6145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPkb1F2f03QANuLpJU3DleYSppzt3CLlskAr5cUzjPoguk2i1nEYjecFVtrcHluUjmAz9F1BxGKILYip38Hwn1K5T0a3huVdqkB1eK9eSrrNGDNbUPIjqmI5nRaX_RfbceINJbDMHDBA/s1000/DSC_6145.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vista Dome car for Adventure Class passengers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Trail Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing a truss bridge</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On arrival at Seward Depot</td></tr>
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Along the shores of <b>Upper Trail Lake</b>, the train trundled on, giving us a spectacular vista of surrounding sawtooth peaks reflected on the calm waters of the lake. "Ohhs" and "ahhs" were loudly heard, a collective voice of enchantment at something not so often seen. We pass by <b>Moose Pass</b>,<b> </b>a small community by the lakeshore where the road to Seward rejoins alongside the train tracks. A foggy view of <b>Lower Trail Lake</b> and <b>Kenai Lake</b> was another visual treat before the train crosses a truss bridge.<br />
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The train diverges away yet again from the road, groans as it climbs to <b>Divide</b> then goes down the mountainside lush with Sitka spruce. Past this mountain pass, the train reunites with the highway again and we soon hear an announcement about Seward just being close by. It's almost 11 AM and the train finally slows down as it pulls into Seward Depot. <br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-23732867711921912302013-09-29T10:47:00.000-04:002013-10-08T21:47:31.563-04:00Anchorage: Biking On The Coastal Trail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgalACuGmn0igGoqlHVqP9t2FrvxZ4vuL4NrAfxwchP64-x5hbp3-PRJL5RqaRze_e4X4M31uYwoELIno8r2EIQF882Pw9rmiHqrwV0NFLjUIlXYkY8kHMsGmiuR6tGwtMh-g1r8ura4/s800/DSC_5811.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgalACuGmn0igGoqlHVqP9t2FrvxZ4vuL4NrAfxwchP64-x5hbp3-PRJL5RqaRze_e4X4M31uYwoELIno8r2EIQF882Pw9rmiHqrwV0NFLjUIlXYkY8kHMsGmiuR6tGwtMh-g1r8ura4/s1000/DSC_5811.JPG" width="800" /></a></div>
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While most travelers only think of Anchorage as a pit stop, I already knew what I'd be doing once I get my bearings of the city back in my head. <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2011/12/biking-for-adobo.html#more">Two years ago I biked here </a>and that's exactly what I'm doing again. Just a short walk from where I'm staying is <b>Downtown Bicycle Rental</b>. This being such a beautiful autumn day to enjoy the outdoors, I wasn't surprised to find I wasn't the only one renting a bike. <br />
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<i>"Listen up guys"</i>, the grey-haired man at the bike rental shop began as 6 of us customers listened while he unfolded a trail map. <i>"Since you all will be going to the same area, lemme just talk one time and show you what you'll expect on the trail which is currently being rehabilitated."</i> He is of course referring to the famous <b>Tony Knowles Coastal Trail</b> - a favorite not only among cyclists but also inline skaters, joggers and those who simply love to walk.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_xpYxE4FcpeK56RLj6utLBtsGYr5u6-5YC0qtJLFQq2-A5G_AUUXV-xzmKcH29zjRkp9Nm6oYTMFH1kEcnLkK9-7eYNdL9CMN6QGRNM83J9mJQjQQ1X-PZJlMj1Pp7ae_9b1TrDGweI/s800/CoastalTrail_Map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_xpYxE4FcpeK56RLj6utLBtsGYr5u6-5YC0qtJLFQq2-A5G_AUUXV-xzmKcH29zjRkp9Nm6oYTMFH1kEcnLkK9-7eYNdL9CMN6QGRNM83J9mJQjQQ1X-PZJlMj1Pp7ae_9b1TrDGweI/s1000/CoastalTrail_Map.jpg" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map courtesy of Anchorage Daily News</td></tr>
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Having previously biked a part of this 11-mile trail, I was expecting to merely just wing it on my return. What are the chances of me getting lost anyway when the path is paved and there are markers aplenty? When I found out there's an ongoing resurfacing work on the trail with some sections "closed", I was about to try the <b>Ship Creek Trail</b>, one of the alternate biking paths in the city. But then, with five other outdoor enthusiasts wanting to try Anchorage's most scenic biking route, I couldn't help but go with the flow.<br />
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I watched this man highlight the trail map with a marker, noting detours and obstacles along the way. Soon a couple of bikers who've just completed their ride mentioned how they got to bike almost all the way to <b>Kincaid Park</b> - the trail's endpoint - despite the renovation work. It's a weekend anyway so no workers were actually doing any kind of work. <i>"You just have to slow down at those barricades, squeeze in and then go for it again"</i>, was one of the rider's advice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beware these mud flats! Someone actually died here last summer</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Anchorage as seen from the coastal trail</td></tr>
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After paying $16 for 3 hours of rent (additional hours are charged extra after) and getting a supply of complimentary bike lock, helmet, repair kit and map, I was good to go. As always, it's completely exhilarating and liberating to feel that rush of cool air while on a bike - especially knowing I'll be on a trail as popular as the Tony Knowles. It wasn't long before I found myself right where it officially starts.<br />
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Past bridges, along rail tracks, through tunnels, along mud flats - the parade of scenery may have looked all familiar but they were all just as beautiful as I remembered them. Locals and visitors alike have been using this trail since it opened in the 1980s. It's only this year that repairs are being made. Just before reaching the <b>Earthquake Park</b> ( in remembrance of the devastating 9.2 magnitude earthquake which struck Anchorage in 1964) did I start seeing orange barricades with signs "trail closed" on them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many cargo planes heading off to Asia</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqZeiGMvneXUxUIYwHuD7yS2s_wHJrcoQ6v1LbJ5QlIttjmiovSyJFQiolHSUHJodYP_rOY861yv_FjYNviScsu15LSE1pMxSA_vVXsfdeouwNdkgrEUcIrFslCj9yvemLFpMo88DIHg/s800/DSC_5854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqZeiGMvneXUxUIYwHuD7yS2s_wHJrcoQ6v1LbJ5QlIttjmiovSyJFQiolHSUHJodYP_rOY861yv_FjYNviScsu15LSE1pMxSA_vVXsfdeouwNdkgrEUcIrFslCj9yvemLFpMo88DIHg/s1000/DSC_5854.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reindeer burger. Really good.</td></tr>
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Just as what I was told earlier, there were detours but then seeing how everyone else after me merely slowed down and went though a gap in the barricades got me joining as well. I knew it wasn't the right thing to do given these closures were really meant because of safety concerns. For the next few miles I got more vigilant looking for obstacles along the route. There was none thankfully. Soon I found myself at the end of the runway at Anchorage airport. This was the farthest I biked the first time, a favorite spot for plane spotting.<br />
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Past the runway is <b>Point Woronzof</b> with a spectacular view of <b>Cook Inlet</b> and the snow-capped <b>Tordrillo Mountains</b>. There's actually a turn-off close by where I could bike to a paved road parallel the runway for unobstructed views of airplanes taking off. My interest though at this point was seeing some wildlife as I was about to enter the more forested part of the trail. It took some time before I finally got to see a pair of <b>moose </b>almost hidden amongst the trees. <br />
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At milepost 5.5, things got rough as the trail's old asphalt has been completely removed. My progress was so hampered and thinking I wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, I decided to make a U-turn at this point. My ultimate quest to reach Kincaid Park has to be shelved when I hopefully get another chance to revisit Anchorage. As a consolation, I gobbled up on Reindeer burger back in downtown after returning the bike.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-91231470320578179512013-09-21T00:00:00.000-04:002013-09-21T10:16:28.258-04:00Anchorage Once More<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Before Alaska freezes over in winter, it's time to make a quick trip up north. Flying there from New York isn't really quick. There's no non-stop to begin with. When American Airlines sent me an e-mail offering a targeted fast-track to elite membership on their <a href="https://www.aa.com/AAdvantage/aadvantageHomeAccess.do?anchorEvent=false&from=Nav">AAdvantage</a> program, that's where things got more exciting for me. Not only will I see America's last frontier again, I'll also be be snagging a status with one of the world's pioneering frequent flyer programs.<br />
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From New York, I flew about an hour and a half on American Airlines to Chicago where I connected to a code-shared flight with <b>Alaska Airlines</b>. It's my first time flying an airline named after a U.S. state so I'm thrilled. Flying time between the Windy City and Anchorage is about 6 hours - almost like halfway on the "great circle" route to Asia (many of my previous flights to Asia overflew Alaska). The Russian Far East is in fact closer from Anchorage than Chicago is!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starbucks onboard. Sorry, no Venti.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Kluane National Park's many glaciers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chugach Mountains near Anchorage</td></tr>
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Knowing in-flight meals on domestic flights are only available for purchase, I was prepared to bring my own but then I got curious about Alaska Airlines' menu. Among the $6 offerings, I opted for the "Hungarian Beef Goulash" which turned out to be a pretty good meal - never mind if it looked like one of those pre-cooked meals sold in frozen sections of a grocery store. One caffeinated bonus is the complimentary cup of steaming Starbucks coffee which was served 3x during the flight.<br />
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In-flight entertainment in the main cabin is also not free. For $10, one could rent a portable media player filled with movies, TV shows, games, even access to discounted WiFi. Not wanting to pay just to get entertained, I was happy reading a Paul Theroux book I bought with me. Fortunately for me on this B737-800 aircraft fitted with 3-seats abreast, no one was seating in the middle to give me and the other fellow more elbow room.<br />
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Several hours later, as the plane made its way above Canada's glaciated <b>Kluane National Park</b>, my sights were turned downwards on this vast icy wilderness. This went on and on until descent at the <b>Chugach Mountains</b> now closer to Anchorage. Seeing glaciers in this increasingly warm planet we live on was surely one great free entertainment while flying.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHy4Se0PYh5lF65FygiuXUv9Opedmy_eigCYmZ6t2mi9afkM9uaNpPnrYTNwBtpfyHk01SPbPxJ7mSXy_pqq1P0VeV5bdIlVR4jcyvdJkGeyjryllfHXTR9PvfIeClcYM7yOc9r7Ndr1g/s800/DSC_5711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHy4Se0PYh5lF65FygiuXUv9Opedmy_eigCYmZ6t2mi9afkM9uaNpPnrYTNwBtpfyHk01SPbPxJ7mSXy_pqq1P0VeV5bdIlVR4jcyvdJkGeyjryllfHXTR9PvfIeClcYM7yOc9r7Ndr1g/s1000/DSC_5711.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A clear day over Anchorage with a rare view of Mt. McKinley - highest peak in North America</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anchorage is a major flight hub</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2OaebqZoJfHb8p4-b8cn_Aki4GEwxLc3JXCpFcFBZcJiaYrj1sb6XigC8nuTWvg0Kg4x7eQDWs3_srL-78S774UnoB_fVaHAHVFv0wCNEAnF-Y14hBWJsyQ8Hnsa9Zj7Lc5kJUCgo_g/s800/DSC_5714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2OaebqZoJfHb8p4-b8cn_Aki4GEwxLc3JXCpFcFBZcJiaYrj1sb6XigC8nuTWvg0Kg4x7eQDWs3_srL-78S774UnoB_fVaHAHVFv0wCNEAnF-Y14hBWJsyQ8Hnsa9Zj7Lc5kJUCgo_g/s1000/DSC_5714.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like a migratory bird, this Somalian taxi driver spends his winter in Africa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ7i8sG0eIm3f8JUwfZFXNBeIqpC3CInMDjP0wJfHPuFZS2H1f5Iomb3RE76i8NQNcv0iGNlLleSXizti9on1Q6QugJmlQTbp9CHoLnKzIGBweI7R-U15TQBVSo7ekg0uVK6-ilnIXnB0/s800/DSC_5847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ7i8sG0eIm3f8JUwfZFXNBeIqpC3CInMDjP0wJfHPuFZS2H1f5Iomb3RE76i8NQNcv0iGNlLleSXizti9on1Q6QugJmlQTbp9CHoLnKzIGBweI7R-U15TQBVSo7ekg0uVK6-ilnIXnB0/s1000/DSC_5847.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anchorage City Hall</td></tr>
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Burdened only with a carry-on, I quickly exited <b>Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport</b> and into a brilliant 63-degree Fahrenheit early afternoon. A lanky immigrant from Somalia wearing an ill-fitting suit ushered me to his metered Yellow Cab right beneath a hanging sign that says Taxi Service. It's about 15 minutes to downtown.<br />
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<i>"Looks like a great day to be here"</i>, I told him. <i> </i><br />
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<i>"Lucky you, it was raining two days straight before"</i>, he responded.<br />
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<i>"Really? I'm prepared" </i><br />
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<i>"First time here?"</i><br />
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<i>"No, my second"</i><br />
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<i>"Are you from the Lower 48?" </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Huh? Oh... yes, of course"</i>.<br />
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For a nanosecond I thought about the question. Having been based in the contiguous United States for years now, I almost forgot about Alaska's placement in the latitudinal sense of the hemisphere. While the 49th State is technically within the North American continent, it lies far in the Northwest separated from the motherland by the Canadian province of British Columbia. Hence, Alaskans always use the term "Lower 48" when talking about the contiguous United States.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Dpfmd4qGPxSS8mkoed-fKmGPGZIs94QYmtqmte7bXUOVSjX17wvVhd32_7zcHKPTGmztGyCZt5OacKSCP1-W4Ilp9GJScs0or0_Vp8mT7VVCk60C_65dSFabaBMBnxDAJyr66soJpv4/s800/DSC_5861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Dpfmd4qGPxSS8mkoed-fKmGPGZIs94QYmtqmte7bXUOVSjX17wvVhd32_7zcHKPTGmztGyCZt5OacKSCP1-W4Ilp9GJScs0or0_Vp8mT7VVCk60C_65dSFabaBMBnxDAJyr66soJpv4/s1000/DSC_5861.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lobby display at Anchorage Hilton. Many of the guests checking-in were air crews.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENEvym9sKBc2lJ1b911ZzrwWKAWkdALeCrdIXuT_TPgecPqfoatI7hffOyO2fVxi_lzeHWY0JHHHWdOWDxxLKIF-icn_aMZf6B51gzdwbCA5i64xjyAiHGr6OGuXha0jD4ZZQABmXhc0/s800/photo4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENEvym9sKBc2lJ1b911ZzrwWKAWkdALeCrdIXuT_TPgecPqfoatI7hffOyO2fVxi_lzeHWY0JHHHWdOWDxxLKIF-icn_aMZf6B51gzdwbCA5i64xjyAiHGr6OGuXha0jD4ZZQABmXhc0/s1000/photo4.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Cook Inlet and snow-capped mountains from my 10th floor window</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgem3jYJodGkEnKSGZryaSvOw0_lHdZm1LzLbG752aNaQvUTgWmm2kopNqE3lZSGLlOASQZfN8FsM6kzooAwZx2cMu6b1CPrZ-WGuFVnUYgqGuNfOe1lIIcgitPhu7Mh0Bs_BwyQma1OvM/s800/DSC_5844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgem3jYJodGkEnKSGZryaSvOw0_lHdZm1LzLbG752aNaQvUTgWmm2kopNqE3lZSGLlOASQZfN8FsM6kzooAwZx2cMu6b1CPrZ-WGuFVnUYgqGuNfOe1lIIcgitPhu7Mh0Bs_BwyQma1OvM/s1000/DSC_5844.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tourist trap</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJwrOXeSkj15PgIOc8TknCnAkMgl6ps2n0yd4KdNoma3OMIMXH_pdxYlfsV-d3513EzxYIoh9LoctCn87V-G5Yrt-O00uAlcwACNTmYreg7wYYmFHQ8HKaHC1CzefFKvI9Gg5BPGEUYQ/s800/DSC_5726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsJwrOXeSkj15PgIOc8TknCnAkMgl6ps2n0yd4KdNoma3OMIMXH_pdxYlfsV-d3513EzxYIoh9LoctCn87V-G5Yrt-O00uAlcwACNTmYreg7wYYmFHQ8HKaHC1CzefFKvI9Gg5BPGEUYQ/s1000/DSC_5726.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yummy Reindeer sausage. Now Santa isn't pleased with me.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmPIcCF902rQ6xRM1wBf2P4mRuF5UeD61rVcjZXqPT00VTdIFaLi2Fq6bZRC2lKc12wTjhLLaiT8b-YYYO7aDlLiSTON43EbieeRvqdfbFHdp_HMcXhQkaaqNr3kVa77poXcTbV69FCM/s800/DSC_5722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGmPIcCF902rQ6xRM1wBf2P4mRuF5UeD61rVcjZXqPT00VTdIFaLi2Fq6bZRC2lKc12wTjhLLaiT8b-YYYO7aDlLiSTON43EbieeRvqdfbFHdp_HMcXhQkaaqNr3kVa77poXcTbV69FCM/s1000/DSC_5722.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Souvenir shops and tour peddlers are just two of the thriving businesses during Alaska's summer</td></tr>
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<br />
Home to almost 300,000 residents, Alaska's biggest city might as well be the northerly stepping stone between the East and West. Besides commercial flights, numerous cargo planes flying between Asia and the "Lower 48" stop by Anchorage. Almost a hundred years ago, Anchorage wasn't even existing in the map. It merely grew from a tent city during the early years of railroad construction which began in 1914. The city's economy basically relied on railroad business until aviation came into the picture later on. <br />
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Today, tourism plays a big part in the local economy. Most visitors fly in and out of Anchorage, stay in hotels & hostels, eat in its varied restaurants, drink in its pubs, shop in its numerous tourist traps, and book tours & trips among its many local operators. Selling experiential endeavors isn't difficult in a place like Alaska since given the time required just to get there and the immense natural bounty it already offers, makes the proposition so enticing.<br />
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As soon as the driver brought me right in front of Hilton Anchorage (where I'm staying for free), I knew just what kind of "experience" I'll get myself into after settling in. As someone traveling from the "Lower 48", I'm always ready to hit the ground running.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-32985411130648629852013-09-10T00:00:00.000-04:002013-09-11T18:56:15.327-04:00Remembering 9/11<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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With visitor's passes on hand, we're joining the long queue in hushed silence. A collective awareness of respect and honor hangs in the air. No one's even complaining about airport-style security just to get in. Or that IDs have to be checked. Considering the tragic events that happened here, everyone understands the tight security at <a href="http://www.911memorial.org/"><b>The National September 11 Memorial & Museum</b></a> in downtown Manhattan's <b>World Trade Center</b>.<br />
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Entering the memorial site is free. But because it is currently a construction site, entrance is still capacity controlled and one can only enter at the time indicated on the pass. We walk along a construction fencing, amidst the din of car traffic on one side and the hum of ongoing building work on the other. A duo of police officers stand on a corner, intently eyeing each visitor behind dark aviator glasses.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuy0udETWI3Vbq6HHCwt3yYQZYjI7Ya4a-et0lhWdIgPh1FjPSPa06nDZ-HsjLZFKGC2SfsfmAsUWsqY1rInYIpGaZl_HRDr0PPFtaBZwy_mlZWIZXNugKadpvjnVT34ItTwwPUBHEYoM/s800/scan0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuy0udETWI3Vbq6HHCwt3yYQZYjI7Ya4a-et0lhWdIgPh1FjPSPa06nDZ-HsjLZFKGC2SfsfmAsUWsqY1rInYIpGaZl_HRDr0PPFtaBZwy_mlZWIZXNugKadpvjnVT34ItTwwPUBHEYoM/s1000/scan0003.jpg" width="540" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twin Towers rubble as seen from Broadway St. (late September 2001)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makeshift memorial at Washington Square (late September 2001)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makeshift Memorial at Washington Square (late September 2001 - all 3 pics taken with my old <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2011/02/love-affair-with-cameras.html#more">Nikon FM10</a>)</td></tr>
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Twelve years have passed since that horrendous day. Like everyone else who will never forget where they were or what they were doing at that moment, September 11 has become a part of a universal consciousness. The unfolding events were so raw and so graphic, the nature of attacks so brazen and diabolic it has scarred the American psyche forever. <br />
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Twelve years ago I arrived in this country hoping for that much clichéd "greener pasture". Barely two months later, I awoke on a beautiful September morning in a Queens, NY apartment to find my dreams seemingly crumbling along with the imploding Twin Towers. "What's happening?", I could only ask in disbelief, shocked at this breaking news on practically all TV stations. If Armaggedon in America was happening right then, I have all the right to be scared s#&^t! I almost wanted to go back to the Philippines.<br />
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The USA was terribly wounded and I, along with millions of others, felt the hemorrhage of a nation. Questions arose in the air like the dark, rancid smoke of a smoldering "Ground Zero". Yet there were no clear answers right then. My vision of the "Great American Dream" was built on the premise that America is a land of opportunity. When 9/11 struck, it came with such ferocity it weakened my knees like a quivering jelly. I thought my dream was turning into a nightmare. But thankfully I held on.<br />
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Two weeks later, as the city of New York was still reeling from the catastrophe, a friend and I ventured into lower Manhattan for some errands. Our train stopped at Fulton Street Station, then the closest operating subway station to "Ground Zero", so we got out, curious to find how things were. Even down there in the train platform we sensed a sign that devastation reached Manhattan's netherworld - we smelled the stench of death and everyone was covering their noses.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A callery pear tree which survived in the aftermath of<br />
the attacks is now known as the "Survivor Tree"</td></tr>
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As expected, we couldn't go beyond Broadway Street as about six city blocks became a fenced-in <strike>crime scene investigation</strike> war zone. What we saw were glimpses of what were once lofty Twin Towers - now reduced to smithereens. Being there, seeing the utter destruction, the senselessness of it all, made not a few surrender to the emotional side of their being. Men and women openly shed tears.<br />
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On nearby St. Paul's Chapel, eerily caked with dust, a makeshift wall full of pictures was displayed, with each photo scribbled "missing". We were staring at portraits of people whom we don't even know yet the impact of whatever they went through was cutting us like a thousand knives. It was extremely agonizing to imagine almost 3,000 innocent people going through something so atrocious a death. My friend and I felt we just couldn't bear it anymore, our knees were trembling and so we walked away.<br />
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Twelve years later, here I am staring at one of the two footprints of the fallen Twin Towers. Now a part of the 9/11 Memorial, the footprints have been turned into a reflecting pool with a man-made waterfall running along its entire four corners. Right on the edge of the pools are bronze panels where names of all victims both from the 1993 and 2001 attacks are inscribed.<br />
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It's a fitting tribute, one which speaks volumes about man's quest for hope and redemption and renewal. The sound of cascading water elicits introspection, muting all discordant noises from a bustling downtown Manhattan. As I let my hand ran through some of the names, I realized many of them were foreign-sounding. For sure, a lot of them whose lives were lost right at this spot, must have at some point been dreaming of the Great American Dream themselves. I certainly share in that dream. And I pray for their eternal rest.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-25909917880215886022013-09-03T00:00:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:51:06.866-04:00Old Québec <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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French fries is not exactly the kind of food I hanker for. Not unless I'm starving and desperate for anything to eat. When a friend suggested I try <b><i>poutine</i></b>, <span class="st">I wasn't overly enthusiastic. This </span><span class="st"><i>Québécois</i> specialty - french fries topped with cheese curds and thick brown gravy - looks like another way to choke my artery with fat. Or as others describe it, a heart attack on a bowl. But given this junk food's popularity among locals and visitors, I'm willing to give it a try.</span><br />
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<span class="st"><span lang="fr">Since Old </span></span><span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec is made for walking, </span>we're ambling around this UNESCO World Heritage site</span>, sizing up its European architecture and vibe, admiring the greenery in its numerous parks, until hunger catches up with us past 1 PM. There are plenty of restaurants in </span><span class="st"><span class="st"><span lang="fr"><i>Vieux-Québec's</i></span></span> Upper Town and Lower Town districts. In one alley lined with shops selling works of local artists, we stumbled upon "La Nouvelle France" and decided to eat there after finding out they serve <i>poutine</i>. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poutine</td></tr>
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<span class="st">Despite the restaurant's inviting patio dotted with boxed flowers, we found the weather too hot for comfort so we got a table inside. A cheerful waitstaff took our orders and in no time I was staring down at this calorific meal. The green salad accompanying my <i>poutine</i> couldn't really mask my guilt. I stabbed the fries with fork, finding the odd mixture of hot gravy and cheese curd has made it into a goopy mess. </span><span class="st">Hints of various spices were on the gravy while the cheese has this melted mozzarella texture. I can't honestly say I was singing hallelujah to this but at least my curiosity was fed well.</span><br />
<span class="st"><br />Our postprandial foray continues with the same slow walk, this time into the walls of Old </span><span class="st">Québec - a defining structure of the city dating back to its earliest years after F</span>rench colonization. These ramparts, more than four kilometers long, makes <span class="st">Québec the only fortified city in the Americas north of Mexico and the Caribbean.</span> When you add up the <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2013/08/the-citadel-of-quebec.html">Citadel </a>right to it, it's not surprising why people often refer to the city as the "Gibraltar of North America".<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porte St. Louis: one of four surviving gates</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="st">Old </span><span class="st">Québec fortification</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parliament Building</td></tr>
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<span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st"><br /></span></span></span>
As the capital of <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec province, it administers the various needs of about 8 million </span></span></span><span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st"><i>Québécois</i>. </span></span></span>Anything related to this rather boring function is hidden within the <b>Parliament Building </b>which is home to the National Assembly. Completed in 1886, this legislative institution has seen many debates but none more polarizing than the still simmering sovereignty movement. Twice there's been a referendum on <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec's </span></span></span>independence from Canada and twice it got defeated - the last one narrowly so. Interestingly, <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">the <i>Québécois </i>flag - not the Canadian flag we know - flies proudly atop the building's clock tower.</span></span></span><br />
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Across a small park from <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec City Hall is</span></span></span><span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st"><b> </b></span></span></span><span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st"><b>Notre-Dame de Québec Basilica-Cathedral</b>. Erected since 1647 on the original site of the chapel built by Quebec founder Samuel de Champlain, this is considered the oldest parish church in North America. Through the centuries, it has been ravaged by wars and fires, now rebuilt and restored with a Neo-classic facade. Underneath is the Crypt where some 900 people are buried, including</span></span></span> <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec</span></span></span>'s first bishop and several former governors of "New France". A guided tour was offered but my companions were spooked at the thought of being down there.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notre-Dame de Québec Basilica-Cathedral</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church interior</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Town</td></tr>
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From Upper Town, walking down the steep <span class="st"><i>Côte de la Montagne </i>led us to Lower Town. There's actually a <i>Funiculaire </i>going up and down along the cliff. On the cobblestoned </span><b>Place-Royale </b>was where<b> </b>de Champlain landed after sailing on St. Lawrence River from its mouth in the Atlantic. <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">The city of Québec was born here, a name derived from native Algonquin </span></span></span><i>Kébec </i>meaning<i> </i>"where the river narrows"<i>. </i>Tourists mill about in the public square hemmed in by houses looking like they were miraculously snatched from France.<br />
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If there's one building that screams Gallic dominance on <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec</span></span></span>'s skyline, <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">it's got to be the landmark </span></span></span><b>Château Frontenac.</b> It is so imposing it sits there like a huge crown on the head of <i>Cap Diamant </i>(Cape Diamond), its circular turrets and towers piercing the sky. Built in 1893 for the Canadian Pacific Railway following designs of an American architect, this luxury hotel embodies the Château-style inspired by the Châteaux of Loire Valley in France. Owing to its iconic stature, the hotel is designated as a National Historic Site of Canada.<br />
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As the afternoon heat tapers off a bit, we started heading back to the hotel for some much needed rest. Summer is the busiest season in <span class="st"><span lang="fr"><span class="st">Québec - and the crowd we saw was a testament to that - but the idea of a winter visit and experiencing its Winter Festival sounds promising to me. Even a serving of <i>poutine </i>- supposedly a winter comfort food -<i> </i>is guaranteed to keep me warm. Oh boy, does this mean I'm having a serving of gooey cholesterol one day again?</span></span></span><br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-29588144847403103562013-08-25T15:56:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:50:55.084-04:00The Citadel of Québec<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iPhone shot of Old Québec & St. Lawrence River taken from the Citadel</td></tr>
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There I was on the Citadel atop a rocky bluff overlooking <i><span class="st">Vieux-Québec, </span></i><span class="st">stunned by the view of Saint Lawrence River cutting a huge swath on the land. A little over 400 years ago, French navigator </span>Samuel de Champlain sailed across the Atlantic ocean and into the same river, setting foot right somewhere below where I'm standing. On July 3, 1608, a French colony for New France arose on the riverbank to become the Old Québec we now see - a UNESCO World Heritage site.<br />
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It's quite obvious why de Champlain chose the site. The ease with which boats could travel from the ocean and the fact that a promontory offered a great defense made it easier to establish a French settlement in North America. As with all acquisitions during Europe's Age of Exploration however, greed for land led to battles after battles. The British came along, seizing the city in 1759 which led to a protracted war until the French has had enough and gave up in 1763.<br />
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Even under British rule, Québec wasn't totally hands off from another invasion. The simmering American Revolutionary War in the south led the Continental Army to set it sights on its northern neighbor. The Yankees were hoping to gain military control of the land and earn support from French-speaking locals for its much bigger objective. Which is something like a merger against the Brits. The Battle of Quebec - as it's called - was a big loss for the Americans.<br />
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To counter future American attacks, the British improved on original French ramparts atop <i>Cap Diamant </i>(Cape Diamond), turning it into the solidly-built star-shaped Citadel. This took them more than a decade to complete. The strategic location of this stronghold is so important that even today, the Citadel remains an active military garrison, currently home to the<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Royal 22nd Regiment of the Canadian Forces. While threats of wars are long gone, an invasion of a more peaceful kind has assaulted the soldiers stationed there - tourists.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I Remember"</td></tr>
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Being a military property, visiting the Citadel is only possible with a guide. A guided tour is 10 CAD per person. Going there early afternoon, without any shade or cover, the summer sun was roasting us as we toured the windswept fortress along with other guests. Within the walls are 24 buildings, including the Governor General's residence. There are cannons and artillery guns and other reminders of wars past. We entered what used to be a gunpowder room to view displays of artifacts and various military uniforms. Once done with the tour, we exited the Citadel grounds through the same gate we entered at the Dalhousie Gate. <br />
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While we're mostly left to imagine the horrors of war each time we visit old fortresses, we always leave impressed with formidable defense systems built at a time when most depend on tedious manual labor. The Citadel is no exception. It helped Québec from invasions and destruction. Even helped cement the city's reputation as "the Gibraltar of North America".</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-5370731529508455422013-08-18T00:00:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:50:37.712-04:00Québec: Montmorency Falls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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"Higher than Niagara Falls?!", my incredulous remark was louder than it should. Inside the Visitor's Center were informational displays and photos about the falls we were about to see up close. "Should be something worth checking huh", yapped this guy standing next to me, throwing a look like it's his first waterfall visit ever. It's a sunny Saturday and <b>Montmorency Falls Park</b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"></span><i>(Parc de la Chute-Montmorency) </i>is bracing for another summer crowd.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Through the center's glass windows, I could see the cascade already</span> - a torrent of white angry water hurtling down over a cliff. Having been to Niagara Falls twice before, I tried to mentally juxtapose the two falls in order to appreciate the difference in height. At 272 feet, the Montmorency Falls is a full 99 feet higher - something which is trumpeted with pride by park staff. Never mind if it's obviously narrower.<span class="st"><i> </i><i></i></span><br />
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Only 12 kilometers away from Old Québec, the falls is a popular side trip for visitors to the city. It is open year-round - from summer where the plunging water is illuminated at nights, to winter when the freezing spray at the base turns into a so-called <span class="body"><i>pain de sucre </i>(sugarloaf) mountain of ice. Roads and bike paths lead to car parks and bike racks at the top and bottom of the falls. <br /><br />There are two options to go up from the Visitor's Center: one through stairs wet with mist on the cliff side or through an aerial tram for 10.95 CAD return/8.95 CAD one way. My traveling companions weren't keen on the slippery 487 steps to the top so I just went along willingly since they were paying for the tickets anyway.</span> The packed tram groaned as it slowly climbed up, affording us excellent views of the falls. Secretly however, I was wishing I was on the stairs instead.<br />
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At the the top, we had to walk past Manoir Montmorency, a reconstructed former summer residence of an 18th-century British Governor General and now a popular venue for weddings & events. A concrete path meanders through a wooded side of a cliff before emerging to a set of stairs leading to a suspension bridge spanning the crest of the falls.<br />
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Crossing this bridge was certainly the highlight, offering a spectacular perspective not oftentimes seen in many other waterfalls. There we were standing just a few feet above the waters of Montmorency river as it plummets down below to join nearby St. Lawrence River - one of North America's major waterway. Given the vertiginous view at this point, it is obvious Montmorency Falls has got what it takes to end up taller than its bigger cousin in the US/Canadian border.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-58255518935397644272013-08-12T00:00:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:50:22.549-04:00The Leaning Tower of Montréal <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every big city I know has some towering structure to show off. Sorta chest thumping in their own concrete jungle. Or displaying the ultimate urban phallic symbol for all to see. While Dubai has Burj Khalifa, Kuala Lumpur has Petronas Towers, Paris has the Eiffel, Montréal has its own rising above the city - the <b>Montréal Tower</b>.<br />
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What makes this tower unique is not so much for its height. At 165 meters high, it ain't in the league of the super statuesque out there. It's not even Montréal's tallest. Rather, the fact that it's leaning at an angle of 45 degrees - more than the Tower of Pisa's 5-degree incline - makes it a very unique structure in its own right.<br />
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It is the world's tallest man-made leaning tower.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">City Hall</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Montréal</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Montréal's Chinatown, even Chinese fortune cookies churn out French </td></tr>
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We arrived into French-speaking Montréal late in the afternoon. Like the rest of North America in summer, it wasn't getting dark well past 9 PM so we drove eastward away from city center into <i>Parc Olympique</i> (Olympic Park), home to many of the venues of the 1976 Summer Olympics. <br />
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Lording it over the entire park is the tower, connected to the massive<i> </i><i>Le Stade Olympique de Montréal </i>(Montréal Olympic Stadium). From where we stood, the tower looks like an inverted torch leaning way too much, as if about to crash into the stadium itself. Outside on its curved spine is a bi-level funicular bringing guests to the top. We joined the queue to pay for entrance tickets.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funicular</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montréal skyline</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partial view of the stadium rooftop</td></tr>
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When the stadium was being built in the early 1970s, the French architect Roger Taillibert envisioned a tower which will serve as a mast for the retractable roof. However, delays kept plaguing the project: worker's strike, budget overruns, and the unusual design itself. The Montreal Olympic Games opened with a partially finished stadium (without a roof) and without the tower that we now see.<br />
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Only after the 1976 games did construction on the tower resumed and an observatory was added to the plan. In 1987, or eleven years later, the tower and the stadium's roof finally got completed. Construction cost had ballooned to more than a billion Canadian dollars, leaving Montrealers gasping at this so-called "Big Owe" (Taxpayers had to shoulder paying this enormous debt after all). To make matters worse, ongoing repair and maintenance costs are high.<br />
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Not surprisingly, going up the tower is an expensive experience - we shelled 22.50 CAD per person. The sting is even more pronounced with the currently weaker US dollar. But lo and behold, many of those taking the ride were actually Americans. Two minutes was all it took for the 76-person capacity funicular to haul all of us to the tower's observatory.<br />
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Up there, we got great views of downtown Montréal, St. Lawrence river, and all other attractions within the Olympic Park. Great views which momentarily make me forget the hefty cost of going up there.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-71063578611271803582013-08-04T00:00:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:49:54.265-04:00Ausable Chasm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"Welcome to the Inner Sanctum"</i>, an elderly woman says as she checks our $16.95 entrance tickets. We've been driving for five hours from New York and our arses were in desperate need of a break. Our legs too were screaming for a stretch. Somewhere along Route 9, roadside billboards about <b>Ausable Chasm</b> got us curious. Why not stop by? Looks like a nice stopover before the US/Canadian border. <i>"Please take care as you walk"</i>, the lady advised us, aware of wet conditions on the paths.<br />
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As it turns out, Ausable Chasm has been attracting visitors to New York's Adirondacks region since 1870, making it one of America's oldest natural attractions. Many often refer to it as the " Little Grand Canyon of the East". The gouging action of Ausable River has carved a fissure on the predominant Potsdam sandstone to make a deep gorge in the same manner the Colorado River has been doing over in Nevada. Give it another thousand years and the gorge will surely be deeper than it is now.<br />
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There are four different trails on this 2-mile long chasm. All with varying levels of difficulty. But the "Inner Sanctum" is more popular as it allows a closer look at the cliffs and the surging river running below it without strapping on harnesses or wearing protective hats required in the more challenging "Adventure Trail". Paths wind through a forest of pine trees before emerging on a wooden platform overlooking the <b>Rainbow Falls</b> on the gorge's southern end. We've barely made it halfway and we already got fantastic views.<br />
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From wooden platforms, we descended down into natural stone walkways now closer to water level. It can indeed get slippery on certain wet sections so we held on to railings as we continued walking through the rather narrow cliff side. Interesting rock formations - carved through a millennia of erosion - kept everyone stopping to gawk at what seem like part of a Jurassic scene. We crossed some bridges and up and down stairs. The raging sound of the river is proving nature's raw power as it rushes to feed nearby <b>Lake Champlain.</b><br />
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At the end of this trail, right on a natural platform called the "Table Rock", is where rafting trips start from. Cost is $12 per adult (as an add-on to the already pricey entrance fee). While this would have been a great addition to our stopover, we unfortunately still have more miles to cover before getting to our final destination. After crossing the bridge over the gorge, we took Ausable Chasm's shuttle van back to the Visitor Center car park.<br />
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Those with plenty of time certainly have plenty of activities to do. Besides the walks and rafting, there's tubing, rappelling, mountain biking in summer and snowshoeing during winter. For accommodation, one has a choice of staying in a campground, cabin or motel, all conveniently located within this privately-owned and managed property. All these make Ausable Chasm great not just for a quick stopover but as a destination in and of itself. If only we knew before we left New York.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-25800434398616024092013-07-28T11:59:00.000-04:002015-08-01T08:49:21.305-04:00Mohonk Mountain House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One can never be so far from idyllic bliss even for a big city like New York. Only 90 miles north - just outside the charming town of New Paltz and near my favorite hiking nirvana in the Shawangunks - is <b>Mohonk Mountain House</b>. Built between 1879 and 1910, this all-inclusive resort is a perfect haven where the woodlands meet old world vibe. But there is much more beyond its creaking wood floors and the astounding beauty surrounding this Victorian mountaintop property.<br />
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During the gilded age (from 1870s to early 1900s), weary wealthy New Yorkers found a quick respite from the summer heat by escaping to mountain resorts nestled in New York's Hudson Valley region. Here, other wilderness retreats like the Catskill Mountain House, the Laurel House and the Kaaterskill Hotel were also favored by moneyed vacationers. A lot has changed of course ever since the arrival of cars and airplanes.<br />
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While its rivals in the area have all burned down to ashes, Mohonk Mountain House still gracefully stand today on the shores of <b> Lake Mohonk</b>. Its floors still creak and groan, its turrets still pierce the sky, its kitchens still serve afternoon tea, even its gardens feel like part of Downton Abbey. One might just be forgiven for expecting to meet the Earl and Countess of Grantham in the library.<br />
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Now considered a <b>National Historic Landmark</b>, this resort is remarkable for being continuously owned and managed by the same Smiley family since the Mohonk Mountain House was built over a hundred years ago. Responsible stewardship of their land from its beginnings in 1869 have already shown "sustainable development" even before the words became the catch phrase of the environmentally-conscious.<br />
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The Smiley family's efforts surely paid off. Awards and accolades came from Condé Nast Traveler, Travel + Leisure and Luxury Spa Finder among others. The guest list all these years can't be sneered at: four American Presidents (T. Roosevelt, W. Taft, R. Hayes & C. Arthur), industrialists Andrew Carnegie and John D. Rockefeller, and many of Manhattan's high rollers and socialites. Fading old black and white photos of famous past guests hanging on one hallway - while a bit creepy - is a testament of its solid reputation from a bygone era.<br />
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Some of my friends wanted me to join them on a day trip so I merrily tagged along. Staying overnight of course would have been better but midweek summer rates for, say two people staying overnight in one room (which includes 3 meals and afternoon tea) comes up to a whopping $863! We're certainly not up to par with the budgets of its many affluent guests so visiting it for a day was fine enough for us. Price with lunch is $57.75++.<br />
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Unlike in the past when guests arrive by horse carriages, we drove from Manhattan all the way into its busy parking lot. With lunch already reserved in the resort's main dining room, we sought activities possible for day guests. Being surrounded with wilderness, there's a lot of outdoorsy stuff to do in the summer: hiking, rock climbing, mountain biking, horseback riding, carriage rides, boating, fishing, swimming, golf, tennis, croquet and shuffleboard. Winter has its own menu of activities too.<br />
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Having seen some photos of the resort taken from a vantage point, we asked concierge and was given a trail map to the so-called <b>Sky Top</b>, a moderate 1.1-mile slog up the cliff. Up there on the tower, great vistas all around unfurled before us: the Catskills range, the Shawangunks and a visible carpet of greenery among six states. That alone made it worth the day trip. No wonder this resort keeps people coming back all these years - I know because we will.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-24614785262027614802013-07-21T12:12:00.001-04:002013-08-07T18:39:08.591-04:00Santiago: Visiting the Markets<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Something unexpected happened on this "free walking tour" I was joining. Instead of rubbing elbows with some other visitors, I ended up spending the next 3 hours as <a href="http://spicychile.cl/">SpicyChile</a>'s only guest. In other words, I got myself a private tour. How cool is that?<br />
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"Walking tours" of course may not be right up everyone's alley but each time it says "free", I'm certainly going for it. Especially when I'm already short on time and the last thing I want to do is get lost (I don't mind getting lost really if only I wasn't flying that very evening). And because guides on these free tours are volunteers (they only rely on tips), they're quite enthusiastic about what they do.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palacio de Bellas Artes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parque Forestal</td></tr>
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With Cerro Santa Lucia now behind me, I trekked to the tour's meeting point in<b> Barrio</b> <b>Patronato</b>, a Santiago neighborhood a bit to the north. On the way there, I ogled at the neoclassical <b>Palacio de Bellas Artes</b>, the city's fine arts museum lording it over <b>Parque Forestal</b>. This beautiful building was really beckoning me to go inside but my feet was itching more for the market experience. Next visit perhaps?<br />
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Barrio Patronato has always been known as <i>La Chimba</i> (the other side), as it's situated on the other side of Mapocho river which cuts through Santiago. Since the early 1900s, this neighborhood flourished with the arrival of Arab immigrants from the Middle East - we're talking Palestinians, Syrians, Lebanese - who built shops and restaurants here. A wave of Chinese and Koreans followed suit, further strengthening the neighborhood's commercial vibe.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Vega Central</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Game time in La Vega</td></tr>
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Rodrigo, the SpicyChile guide wearing lime green jacket, was already waiting for anyone to show up when I approached him. After a 15-minute more wait, it was apparent I was the only one he was guiding. So off we go to the <i>mercado</i>. There are three markets on this itinerary and Rodrigo leads me first to <b>La Vega Central</b>, located in a shady-looking part of the <i>barrio</i>. La Vega is Santiago's biggest food market. Beneath a huge metal scaffolding lies a veritable landscape of Chilean produce from vegetables to meat to seafood.<br />
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We dodged <i>cargadores</i> pushing carts heaving with corn and made our way past a labyrinth of stalls brimming with oranges, apples and pomegranate. Shoppers were busy perusing for anything that might be part of their dinner that evening while those wanting some leeway from all the frenzy focus their attention instead on slot machines found cheek by jowl with crates of fresh goods. A bit of Las Vegas in La Vega if you will.<br />
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On another building is <b>La Vega Chica</b>, basically an extension of the big <i>mercado</i>. Most weekdays, one will find locals sitting on one of the many small open-air restaurants eating cheap Chilean fare like <i>cazuela</i> (chicken or beef soup), <i>humitas </i>(corn pies), <i>charquicán</i> (beef stew), <i><i>porotos con riendas</i> </i>(bean, squash and noodle stew) and of course <i>empanada</i>. It maybe a bit dark and dingy here but it certainly was alive with patrons on a mission to fill themselves with soulful sustenance.<br />
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We traipsed over into <b>Tirso de Molina Market</b>, somewhat a newer, cleaner, airier reincarnation of a burned-down market. It's a two-story arrangement with a hodgepodge of shops, restaurants and stalls - there are garment shops and grocery stores interspersed with stalls selling various fresh fruit juices. We stopped by one stall owned by an elderly couple, ordered <i>empanadas de pino al horno</i> and parked ourselves on one table. It was a relief to finally sit down, refuel and talk without risk of bumping into shoppers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tirso de Molina market</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empanada</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flower market</td></tr>
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Another short walk and we're in the <b>La Pérgola Santa Maria </b>- an indoor flower market. Not being so familiar with flowers myself, Rodrigo says all floral beauties grown in the Chilean central valley is brought here. The variety is astounding and it's bursting with a riot of colors. But one thing this market is well known for are the elaborate wreaths which eventually end up in the cemeteries.<br />
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Crossing Mapocho River via one of the bridges led us now into <b>Mercado Central</b>. Opened in 1872, this market was built using cast iron as a supporting structure. From outside, the entire building looks like a grand old dame that just refuses to retire. Mercado Central is still busy today, operating mainly as a fish market where the nose gets assaulted by the pungent smells of sea produce. There are touristy seafood restaurants just beneath the big dome, mostly with aggressive touts enticing every passerby.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mapocho river</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mercado Central</td></tr>
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Finally, Rodrigo ushers me into <b>La Piojera</b> (The Lice House), considered an institution among locals who imbibe. This popular watering hole got its name in 1922 after a not-so-amused Chilean President gave a snidely "what is this place, a lice house?" to a <i>compadre</i> who brought him there. La Piojera's raucous, down-to-earth atmosphere and cheap drinks appeal well to a ragtag of patrons who couldn't care less if it's only midday.<br />
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What gets everyone on the mood is the joint's most famous drink <i>Terremoto</i> ("earthquake"). Rodrigo orders for the two of us and the bar man immediately scoops pineapple ice cream into plastic cups and fills it with <i>pipeño</i> (a type of fermented sweet wine). It tastes sweet of course but there's this gradual, kick to it as Rodrigo and I kept blabbering away, oblivious to the accordion man singing nearby.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bar scene at La Piojera</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terremoto</td></tr>
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Why "terremoto'? Rodrigo tells me after an earthquake in March 1985, a group of German news reporters covering the devastation sought solace from the heat. They got into another bar where one Chilean waiter concocted the devilish drink. Their reaction<i> "Esto sí que es un terremoto" </i>(This is really an earthquake) thus made the name.<br />
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If Chile's encounters with earthquakes aren't enough, this drink - after
one too many - is guaranteed to sway that Richter scale to a really
shaky feeling beneath the feet. There's even a follow up drink called <i>Replica</i> (or "aftershock") but we didn't go that far. Rodrigo has other commitments while I do need my knees to stay steady and my mind alert - can't risk being offloaded from a flight for being inebriated.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-11005567115360043632013-07-14T00:00:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:39:08.586-04:00Santiago: Cerro Santa Lucia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santa Lucia hill as viewed from Cerro San Cristobal </td></tr>
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Poking out in the middle of downtown Santiago is a small hill big in history. Called <b>Cerro Santa Lucia, </b>I only saw this 'green pyramid' atop the much taller Cerro San Cristobal in 2010, never actually setting foot on it. When I later saw an old picture taken there by Che Guevara (during his South American motorcycle odyssey), I wanted to hit my head with my camera. This remnant of an ancient volcano kept nagging me. I couldn't miss it this time. Especially since I'm staying right at the very heart of town.<br />
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As I got myself ready to go out early in the morning, both Katerina and Gary were already in their living room. This was my last full day in the city before the evening flight back to New York. Thankfully, my hosts allowed me to stay until 5 PM (talk about flexible check-out time - I'm loving homestays already!). Before going to her day job, Katerina gave me a hug while Gary stayed to work in his "home/office".<br />
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Searching for breakfast led me on a dive into Santiago's early morn bustle: office workers like Katerina hurrying into subway stations, shop owners just opening their stores, kids laden with bags going off to school. There's this familiar rush to go somewhere, pretty much like any scene I've seen in any major capital city elsewhere. We may talk different languages anywhere on the planet but our daily grind do usually start the same in the mornings.<br />
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After a quick meal at a pastry shop near my host's apartment, it was merely a couple of blocks to Cerro Santa Lucia where I got some lessons in Santiago's history. Prior to Spanish conquest, this rocky hill was known to native Mapuche people as <i>Huelén.</i> Spanish <i>conquistador</i> <b>Pedro de Valvidia</b> came upon this hill on Santa Lucia's day in December 13, 1540 - thus the current name. Surrounding the hill was a verdant valley fed by a river coming off the Andes. For Valvidia and his men, this was just the perfect place for them.<br />
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Valvidia tried to win over the indigenous people already settled in the valley. As with any conquest, they didn't trust his intentions wholeheartedly. Two months later in February 12, he officially founded the new Spanish settlement right at the foot of Cerro Santa Lucia, naming it <b>Santiago de Nueva Extremadura<i>. </i></b>In the coming months, as the Indians fought with the Spaniards, the 69-meter hill was used as a lookout for defense and city planning. <br />
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473 years later, visitors like me go up this now hugely landscaped leafy park for the sweeping views. Admission is free and it is open year-round. At one of the entrances, I was required to sign my name - the first to do so as it promptly opened at 9 AM. Park crew were still cleaning the paths and tending the gardens as I walked up, away from the bustle of three major streets flanking this triangular-shaped hill.<br />
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It's almost winter in South America and the early morning chill caught up with me. I increased my pace up the stone steps, bypassing Caupolican Plaza and some fountains, heading straight up instead to the hill's highest point. Up there on a crenellated tower, the view was spectacular, more so because I was by myself. The faint sounds of the city was beneath me while far away lay a smoggy view of the mighty Andes.<br />
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My solitude was cut shortly as other visitors soon made their way up where I was. This being such a great spot, others asked me to take their Facebook profile pics (does lugging a DSLR make people think I'm a pro?) Down the other parts of the hill I went, exploring its many nook, clambering its many steep steps, gazing at its two forts, before finally looking at a bust of Valvidia. If he's alive today, he surely won't recognize the changes in the city he founded centuries ago. Cerro Santa Lucia still serves as a lookout - but with a much different purpose.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-83863511947721907102013-07-05T00:45:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:39:08.596-04:00Valparaiso<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Not all beautiful is skin deep. Such is the case of <b>Valparaiso</b>, a World Heritage site 90 minutes by bus northwest of Santiago. Gritty and weathered from head to toe, it is a city which does not immediately make you swoon at first sight. On one of her 42 <i>cerros</i> - hills jutting straight from sea, its slopes filled with crumbling mansions and colorful buildings and rickety funiculars - I stood while a blanket of fog rolled in from the Pacific. I was only here for a day yet after a few hours, I began to like its rugged and bohemian core.<br />
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Getting to <b>Valpo</b> - as locals fondly call the city - required an early start for me. I was joining a free walking tour at 10 AM with <a href="http://www.freetourvalparaiso.cl/portada.html">Freetourvalparaiso</a>. This meant leaving downtown <b>Santiago</b> while my hosts where still asleep, hopping on the <b>Metro</b> (the second biggest in South America after Mexico City) to <b>Pajaritos</b> where I transferred to one of the many buses regularly leaving the terminal. Roundtrip fare was about 3,500 CLP (or almost 7 USD).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Santiago's bus terminal in Pajaritos</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A foggy view of Valpo's port<i></i> with Turri Clock poking out among commercial buildings below</td></tr>
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Getting off at the bus terminal in Valpo<b>, </b>I realized I only have a few Chilean pesos left. I asked around in my halting Spanish where I can change US dollars. Someone pointed me to a hardware store where an elderly gentleman arose from reading his morning paper and conducted the monetary exchange. Armed now with more Chilean pesos, I showed him Valpo's map, pointing to where I intended to go and asked if the little buses or<i> micros</i> outside will stop at <b>Plaza Anibal Pinto</b> - starting point for the walk.<br />
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When I heard <i>"Si"</i>, I felt fine taking the small bus which was the equivalent of only a few American cents. While I could have just walked along Avenida Pedro Montt, taking about 40 minutes, I wasn't so sure if I'd make it to the plaza in time. Besides, I haven't even eaten breakfast yet. So I joined the throng of locals heading to the more chaotic part of city.<br />
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Ten minutes later, I got into the plaza, saw this man wearing a distinctive "Free Tour" red jacket and approached him. Antonio introduced himself as the walking tour guide. <i>"Oh please, take a breakfast first"</i>, he intoned, pointing to one cafeteria in front of us. <i>"Walking for the next three hours with an empty stomach isn't a good idea"</i>.<br />
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Once done with a quick brekkie, I saw Antonio was already in the company of 9 other Valpo visitors - a merry mix of Americans, Brits, Aussies and one Taiwanese. Two stray dogs wagged their tails, acknowledging Antonio's familiarity in their turf. <i>"Don't be scared, this one's Chulo. He always accompanies me in my tours"</i>, Antonio said. Chulo walks with a limp, a testament to his daily struggle with other stray dogs.<br />
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<a href="http://www.freetourvalparaiso.cl/portada.html">Freetourvalparaiso's</a> itinerary on this 3-hour walk covers pretty much the major sights, involving some decent leg work going up and down stairs and steep sidewalks. Shortly after leaving Plaza Anibal Pinto, we encounter <b>Ascensor Reina</b> - one of the city's remaining working funicular railways (also called elevators) which connect <i>El Plan</i> (the coastal strip) to the hilly parts of town. Built in 1902, it felt so old and creaky, not to mention a tetanus threat, as we went up on a short ride uphill.<br />
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From our first vantage point looking down on this semi-organized chaos of urban planning, we could see what <b>Pablo Neruda</b> meant when he wrote a poem in her honor, telling us of her <i>"disheveled hills"</i>. Colorful houses seem to elbow each other out on steep hillsides. Street art fill every nook and cranny as if walls were meant to convey freedom of expression. It's a crayola world with a grungier, edgy approach.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Valpo's cobblestone streets</td></tr>
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While our view of the harbor was cloaked with fog, there's no denying Valpo's attachment to maritime trade. In mid-19th century, ships plying the route between the Atlantic and Pacific stop by her port. It was around this time when European immigrants also settled in, bringing along with them, among many things, their architectural tastes. The opening of Panama Canal in 1914 and the transfer of wealthy families to Santiago marked the decline of Valpo's golden age.<br />
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From one cobblestone <i>paseo </i>to the next, we continued trekking, up and down we went, past more walls filled with hallucinogenic street art. We got down to busy Ave. Esmeralda and gazed up at the main office building of <b>Diario El Mercurio</b><i> - </i>the oldest Spanish newspaper still in publication today. Nearby is another historic building housing Latin America's oldest stock exchange.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valpo's colors</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diario El Mercurio headquarters</td></tr>
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Then we rode on <b>Ascensor El Peral</b>, another funicular railway. The noisy grunts we heard couldn't hide its old age. It brought us thankfully in one piece. Up there on Paseo Yugoslavo, the <b>Palacio Baburizza</b> looked radiant having been restored after years of neglect. On clearer days, the <i>paseo</i> commands spectacular harbor views.<br />
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We went down through stairs exploding with graffiti, emerging on a <i>calle</i> which steeply sloped towards <i>Calle Pratt </i>before leading us to this wide square called <b>Plaza Sotomayor. </b>Dominating the plaza is the <b>Edificio de la Comandancia Naval</b> (Naval Command Building) while on the other end is the naval war-related <b>Monumento a los Héroes de Iquique</b> (Monument to the Heroes of Iquique).<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ascensor El Peral</td></tr>
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Our walking tour ended right at the busy port. After handing Antonio a tip for a job well done, I decided to do some more exploration. The Taiwanese visitor - who works as an English Literature professor in Taipei - tagged along when he realized we both have the same plans. Never mind if one Taiwanese fisherman got killed in Philippine waters at the time - we didn't let that get in the way of enjoying some more walk (as if the last three hours were not enough).<br />
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We cheated a bit by hopping on one museum-worthy trolleybus that's been moving people since 1952. The ride was soon over as we got off at the junction where a cobblestone road led up <b>Cerro Bellavista. </b>We huffed and puffed, stopping just in time to admire some more quirky street art and catch our breath. The higher we go, the lesser the quality of street art has become - more like the work of some newbie still learning a thing or two from those in the lower side of the hills.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naval Command Building on Plaza Sotomayor</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valpo's trolleybus looks just like it did in the 1950s</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pablo Neruda's former home</td></tr>
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At the top of Cerro Bellavista is <b>La Sebastiana, </b>the former home of Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. Like his <i>La Chascona</i> home in Santiago, this is just as unusual as it looks. Having only seen the outside of his Santiago home, I decided on just resting my sore feet on a bench in his garden while my new Taiwanese friend explored La Sebastiana's interiors.<br />
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From the hilltop, we separated as I made my way down to <i>Calle Pedro Montt </i>and walked all the way to the bus terminal. Feeling so hungry now, I followed my nose to nearby<b> Cardinal Market </b>where vegetable and fruit vendors spilled unto the street. Shoppers idled on their way, blocking paths as they sized up huge tomatoes and carrots and apples straight from boxes. Stalls selling meat and sausages assaulted my nose and so I made a quick escape, eventually finding a table at one random restaurant whose local patrons were glued to 'futbol' aired on TV.<br />
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Lunch for me is not usually this late at 3:30 PM but thinking about what I've seen in Valpo, I was just so happy devouring meat from the <i>parilla. </i>There's no need to rush now, I told myself. The bus bringing me back to Santiago was a mere short walk away.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-75479514639212143112013-06-29T01:07:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:38:47.858-04:00From Island to Mainland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's 5 AM, my phone/alarm clock went off. My Santiago-bound flight wasn't even leaving till 1 PM yet I bolted out of bed quickly and took a shower. On the extra bed in my room lay all my usual travel mess: soiled shirts, soiled socks, soiled underwear, souvenirs, maps, etc. Ah that can wait. Seeing the sun rise behind <b>Ahu Tongariki </b>- Easter Island's largest <i>ahu</i> - is more exciting than dealing with packing smelly clothes.<br />
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Outside is still an inky darkness, the Southern Cross above twinkling just like it did for ancient seafaring Rapanui before me. A cold breeze straight from Antarctica got me zipping my fleece jacket all the way up my neck. No one else was awake. I turned on my headlight - to steer clear from the mud during last night's rain and tell anyone out there I'm not some thief getting away from the hostel. Some dogs started barking. I walked the short distance to the main road.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yvGk2OQfwIWrFXWcXjiI-rAP4VM4nj_u2XVSWcumx5JX5TSYtiRBc2CLRc5dGRaZxBOaTbo26CVZq57EOwDy7Nj_NsBRO2JefuylvV3mvSNqrLlBpoLfQInxO56t9HT43p3J0luJHak/s800/DSC_3149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yvGk2OQfwIWrFXWcXjiI-rAP4VM4nj_u2XVSWcumx5JX5TSYtiRBc2CLRc5dGRaZxBOaTbo26CVZq57EOwDy7Nj_NsBRO2JefuylvV3mvSNqrLlBpoLfQInxO56t9HT43p3J0luJHak/s800/DSC_3149.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few days prior</td></tr>
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About five minutes later, or exactly at 5:30 AM, James pulled his Hyundai Tucson over the side of the road. I hopped in and off we went around to pick up fellow <i>Flyertalk</i> members Harlan, Chris and Angie who were staying at other hostels in <b>Hanga Roa</b>. We traveled northeasterly for the next half hour with the road completely bereft of other headlights. <br />
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A few minutes past 6, we reached the designated car park still bathed in complete darkness. Easter Island is actually three hours behind mainland Chile but in order to align itself closer to regular banking and governmental hours, the time difference was set at two which means sunrises and sunsets are always late. We walked with our headlamps down into the plaza, the still invisible <i>moais </i>dwarfed by the noise of pounding surf nearby.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Tongariki</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Rano Raraku behind them, James & Angie explore the plaza at Ahu Tongariki</td></tr>
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Unlike the madhouse sunrise scene in Cambodia's <i>Angkor Wat</i>, there were only a few others who braved the darkness and the cold at Ahu Tongariki. It felt so eerie yet calming. These giant statues symbolized long-dead ancestors of ancient Rapanui people. The <i>ahu</i> itself has served as an ossuary. We sat on rocks while waiting for<i> that</i> moment when the sun will peek out.<br />
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Slowly, as a sliver of light crept from the eastern horizon, we began seeing silhouettes. One by one each <i>moai</i> began to form like a giant ghostly apparition. I couldn't sit still. I was too stumped for words. This is one of those tranquil moments when man's monumental creations appeal more to our sentimental core. Silently, I snapped pictures - but really there's no DSLR on earth that could give it justice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the coastal road back to Hanga Roa</td></tr>
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This being almost winter in the southern hemisphere, the sun unfortunately didn't rise behind the statues but rather behind <b>Poike</b>, the extinct volcano just nearby. Never mind, the experience was spectacular nonetheless. Our attention shifted to <b>Rano Raraku</b> where these statues were born, the soft early morning sun rendering it a pinkish glow. Being the closest<i> </i>ceremonial platform to the<i> moai</i> factory, it's obvious why <i>Ahu Tongariki</i> is the biggest of all the <i>ahus</i> in the island.<br />
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For about half an hour more, we stood there in awe until James prodded us - <i>"aren't you guys hungry yet?"</i>. We got so hooked on gawking we were the only ones left there in front of the statues. We took that as a sign we needed to go back to <b>Hanga Roa</b>. We bid each other goodbye as Harlan, Chris and Angie still have three extra days in the island (what do I know, Harlan and I were seatmates on the return flight to the US).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswR40QQujgCJZOmbGxKdJSlSwxA-B4zxanmPMgp8wgmZ4_NHRChWHRT6u1zpOEqzN8voyopqNfCiicj8yYtnOhNqSo0w5PeWZBGOMIfa3ADcYIjVjfNC_yysk0BJhyphenhyphenIP189r_yv7BZww/s800/DSC_3055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhswR40QQujgCJZOmbGxKdJSlSwxA-B4zxanmPMgp8wgmZ4_NHRChWHRT6u1zpOEqzN8voyopqNfCiicj8yYtnOhNqSo0w5PeWZBGOMIfa3ADcYIjVjfNC_yysk0BJhyphenhyphenIP189r_yv7BZww/s800/DSC_3055.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hostel brekkie</td></tr>
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Back at the hostel, I headed straight for breakfast. Lory, the hostel owner, is so hands-on each morning with preparing brekkie it felt like I was eating at her own home. While she was busy frying eggs and sausages in the kitchen, her teenage daughter walked around the five or so tables making sure each guest have their share of food and beverages. Talk about mother-daughter team work!<br />
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Lory came to me knowing I was leaving soon, telling me her daughter would drive me to the airport. Then I remembered the local <b>Post Office</b>, only a few minutes walk away. Visitors with a penchant for unique passport stamps go here to get an <b>Isla de Pascua </b>stamp (which reminds me of the <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2007/03/inca-trail-peru-102606.html">Macchu Picchu stamp my passport earned on the Inca trail</a>). There I met a couple of Filipino-Canadians from Ottawa who were both ecstatic to learn my guide was the author of the book they used in the island.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeTOTpCKGuS0t5cqtpX3GrQpN57U7_QH-2LL6awL7nZ7HnyGDyPVjlljfSbYINP4PbBo5dspbMeg5uEIpMjkc3vdRkdHeIgA9OxcesLisTAOlQh2LQ_eXP1hEa97Qn5YCLXncZwjEmYs/s800/DSC_4530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSeTOTpCKGuS0t5cqtpX3GrQpN57U7_QH-2LL6awL7nZ7HnyGDyPVjlljfSbYINP4PbBo5dspbMeg5uEIpMjkc3vdRkdHeIgA9OxcesLisTAOlQh2LQ_eXP1hEa97Qn5YCLXncZwjEmYs/s800/DSC_4530.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isla de Pascua passport stamp</td></tr>
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Back at the hostel again, I quickly shoved everything into my bag. Lory gave me a tight hug as she bid me farewell. Her daughter insisted to carry my bag into the car despite my protestation - it was awkward for me but what can I say: Rapanui hospitality has definitely improved a lot since the first Europeans sailed here centuries ago. I could have walked all the way to the airport but Lory would have none of that. Less than 10 minutes later, I was inside<b> Mataveri International Airport's</b> small terminal building.<br />
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Check-in was very quick since I was the only one being served. In fact, our flight was the only flight for the day. With three more hours to kill before depature, it was a pleasant surprise to find complimentary WiFi (had to send a message to my <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/"><b>airbnb</b></a> host in Santiago). The few souvenir shops didn't appeal to me at all so I walked around and went back outside the terminal until the B767 bird landed gracefully - on the island's single runway purposely lengthened in 1987 for emergency use by NASA's Space Shuttle.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNEh5G7sjmf5WZWNRnxSbyU5PVAKZ2MP61ozVtc2hkbv0vOoo8SmpWfLP8J6fXwl0QAeu-qh6bPxHIv0rsw-PsXkeH3iA0ciN75Pa3at6Y32El_7sb-GGN59xpx0IDL7j_TEHuGDdzvA/s800/DSC_3701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNEh5G7sjmf5WZWNRnxSbyU5PVAKZ2MP61ozVtc2hkbv0vOoo8SmpWfLP8J6fXwl0QAeu-qh6bPxHIv0rsw-PsXkeH3iA0ciN75Pa3at6Y32El_7sb-GGN59xpx0IDL7j_TEHuGDdzvA/s800/DSC_3701.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mataveri airport terminal</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzscsaWL29v7q7Dx7eWl31WRi-98Rn6gQyc0MsfZXrB7e94DFeQ463W3Y5gZfllqQUfuBy8KIDMG2t_mwxf4wWAGOzmY8LKNQVo1YPbb3TxumzP61J32KvMM3rt2nn-hBDHBwbIPat34/s800/DSC_3708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUzscsaWL29v7q7Dx7eWl31WRi-98Rn6gQyc0MsfZXrB7e94DFeQ463W3Y5gZfllqQUfuBy8KIDMG2t_mwxf4wWAGOzmY8LKNQVo1YPbb3TxumzP61J32KvMM3rt2nn-hBDHBwbIPat34/s800/DSC_3708.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lan Chile B767</td></tr>
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Boarding for Lan Chile flight 842 was through tan open-air departure gate, the airport terminal's most interesting part. After making it through my seat and being served Pisco sour, the plane made an on-time turn-around for Santiago. In-flight service was pretty much as good as the inbound. After lunch was served, I spent the rest of this 5-hour flight watching <i>"Les Miserables"</i> and <i>"Just For Laughs"</i> (the perfect antidote for all that weeping). We landed in Santiago just before 8 PM.<br />
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Since I only had a carry-on, I made it quickly to the <b><a href="http://www.transvip.cl/">Transvip</a></b> counter for my shared-van ticket. Having used them the first time I was in Santiago, I felt at ease riding on their van again. There are cheaper buses for sure but I wanted to get quicker to downtown Santiago. Transvip to my airbnb's host address cost 5,500 CLP (or about 10 USD), taking nearly an hour.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjMSXpThHRKnauOL-tJ77QnJPrS8kpbjGqM88oI4JzHWHsBrK0qKxoIvqycHahtQGOGPEIVt_rG1KT1C4jQylvN3cT7H2GsPiy_VRYv7xFZTnzXjtCaw3_nPgjXlX3LhviG5jz5rH66w/s800/DSC_3734.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjMSXpThHRKnauOL-tJ77QnJPrS8kpbjGqM88oI4JzHWHsBrK0qKxoIvqycHahtQGOGPEIVt_rG1KT1C4jQylvN3cT7H2GsPiy_VRYv7xFZTnzXjtCaw3_nPgjXlX3LhviG5jz5rH66w/s800/DSC_3734.JPG" width="800" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvMEE7QbhqMgfl974rRJz7vDLt4uMRlVO7Pr23f9GQgazexJAdvctLf_nrnhoniFIkM6T0M5TfXxm2hDX03nWRT1xItEuiXI4ZLsizve3L2tAo5aLGMgOqkXmQKYik4ng5Nb9nsfV474/s800/DSC_3730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKvMEE7QbhqMgfl974rRJz7vDLt4uMRlVO7Pr23f9GQgazexJAdvctLf_nrnhoniFIkM6T0M5TfXxm2hDX03nWRT1xItEuiXI4ZLsizve3L2tAo5aLGMgOqkXmQKYik4ng5Nb9nsfV474/s800/DSC_3730.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easter Island</td></tr>
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Of the seven passengers in the van, I was the only non-Chilean caught in a crossfire of Spanish. Everyone was on their mobile phones yapping about where they've just been. The driver turned to me asking for the exact address which he then entered into his GPS. This was my first airbnb booking so I was quite excited at the prospect of finding my host. <br />
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Google luckily has "street view" options on their Santiago map so a
few days before arrival I was able to visualize my host's immediate
neighborhood - even the exact door number to their apartment building.
Once the van turned at a corner, I knew I was in the right place,
blurting out confidentl<span style="font-size: small;">y<i> "por favor, para aqui!". </i> As soon as I rang the doorbell, my hosts knew I have already arrived. It was almost 9 PM.</span><br />
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Katerina and Gary greeted me warmly to their 3-bedroom apartment perfectly located right in the heart of historic <b>Centro</b>. Bellas Artes subway was just 2 blocks away while the <b>Plaza de Armas</b>
was just as near. Katerina showed me to my small room with an attached
toilet. Bathroom was in the hallway. For $19/night, cost was quite
reasonable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhxStJUMA7AClmv3_viomfRjqYnkwhp3Rkvts0cLEFHzzT7VX49TkClqYyQax76ll-flMWVL7MHXRwZKUlKNfcWE1nl5u7IsGlZrvryTRSwNvyxaS6UViDydGkXfrEMvb6q3X6LjBJnQ/s800/DSC_4011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhxStJUMA7AClmv3_viomfRjqYnkwhp3Rkvts0cLEFHzzT7VX49TkClqYyQax76ll-flMWVL7MHXRwZKUlKNfcWE1nl5u7IsGlZrvryTRSwNvyxaS6UViDydGkXfrEMvb6q3X6LjBJnQ/s800/DSC_4011.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katerina & Gary - my airbnb hosts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCX5q8GSQ8QcFg6WpL-UHiyQtYyEYdgm2CaPYvxqvpXZuZCKZ5GNPGQMqBR-61o0BCgXgZn98xmmD-mSnJNvjFG5PFEIqM_8nfmC2Fvr7CyrDtVtZ2F1t19ZA62Z3XOH58Z5F3bHSSLI/s800/DSC_3740.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDCX5q8GSQ8QcFg6WpL-UHiyQtYyEYdgm2CaPYvxqvpXZuZCKZ5GNPGQMqBR-61o0BCgXgZn98xmmD-mSnJNvjFG5PFEIqM_8nfmC2Fvr7CyrDtVtZ2F1t19ZA62Z3XOH58Z5F3bHSSLI/s800/DSC_3740.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Santiago room</td></tr>
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As a host, Katerina was thoughtful. She prepared maps of Santiago and Valparaiso for me knowing beforehand I intend to explore both cities. Gary asked if I had dinner. "Nope, my last meal was about 4 hours ago in the plane", I answered. It turns out the couple wanted to eat at their favorite Peruvian restaurant nearby so I went walking with them. <br />
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What's funny, they're not even Chileans. Katerina is from Czech Republic while Gary is from Peru. They both fell in love while toiling in their adopted city and have since decided to live together. While feasting on Peruvian sandwiches, our conversations turned naturally to their respective motherlands - two countries I have previously visited - and of course, where I came from and where I now live.<br />
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Knowing my hosts the first hour couldn't be better than this. So glad to be back in Santiago.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-17714350428439163452013-06-23T00:35:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:38:47.840-04:00Easter Island: Hanga Roa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A ship awaits to off-load cargo meant for Easter Island</td></tr>
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For something so remote, Easter Island may as well be on the moon. But <i>that</i> has not deterred a steady influx of visitor arrivals. In 1989 barely 4000 people visited it while 2011 saw more than 70,000. This sounds good news for a local economy that relies heavily on tourist dollars. The allure and enigma of a <i>moai</i> has surely put it up there on everyone's bucket list along with Macchu Picchu and Angkor Wat.<br />
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Despite its isolation in the Pacific ocean, Easter Island is surprisingly accessible. Lan Chile is the only airline flying regularly from both Santiago in the mainland and Papeete in Tahiti. Which means, being a monopoly, the airfare alone takes a big chunk on the budget (unless one gets on rare deals like I did). Cruise ships do occasionally visit to temporarily inflate the island's population of more than 5,700 inhabitants.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The busts of Rapanui King Atamu Tekena and Policarpo Toro on Hanga Roa Plaza</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avenida Atamu Tekena</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avenida Te Pito Ote Henua</td></tr>
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<b>Hanga Roa</b>, meaning "wide bay", is the island's only town and where majority of islanders live. Most visitors stay here too. In 1774, British explorer James Cook anchored off the bay now bearing his name just in front of present day Hanga Roa. The town is quite tidy, compact and very walkable. Some travelers in fact merely walked from the airport terminal to their hostels in town - it is that close!<br />
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On my fourth day on the island, I decided to take it slow, just getting along with the island's already slow rhythm. James - the guidebook author - is picking me up very early morning the next day for a sunrise view of <b>Ahu Tongariki</b>. Given that I visited Easter Island off season, I've just been fortunate with the sunny weather. Late May is already considered part of rainy season.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church of the Holy Cross</td></tr>
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Rapanui locals are quite friendly. It's not surprising to be greeted <i>"hola" </i>even if it's just on one Hanga Roa sidewalk or getting a free lift down the road. From the hostel, I walked to the <b>Church of the Holy Cross</b> whose facade showcases Rapanui art. Unfortunately, I would miss Sunday mass done entirely in the Rapanui language as I would have flown to Santiago by then.<br />
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The island's Christianization came at a time when the Rapa Nui culture was impacted severely. After the fall of the <i>moais</i> and the rise of the Birdman cult, the local population plummeted abruptly in 1862 when slave trade raiders from Peru abducted hundreds of islanders, many of whom died in the long journey. After an international outcry, only a handful was repatriated back, bringing with them smallpox which further decreased the island's population.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A group of teachers entering the only school in town</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanga Roa firehouse</td></tr>
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It was during this long dark days when a Catholic Mission was set up in the island. Many practices associated with the Birdman cult was abolished as the locals eventually embraced a new religion. I sat silently in the church pew, pondering on the Rapanui's religious foray which all began with ancestor worship. The church site is almost a hundred years old.<br />
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Later in the morning, I found myself entering the local prison which anyone can freely visit. It's on the other side of the airport. There are currently 15 inmates (with only one female prisoner) serving different offenses, the most serious being murder. Interestingly, all prisoners walk around the prison compound and freely mingle with both police officers and visitors alike. Most of the time, the prisoners are busy with their hands carving wood meant to be sold as souvenirs. They're actually cheaper than what's sold in the markets.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naval Day parade </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mobile market in town</td></tr>
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Walking back to town, I got offered a car lift by a very friendly Rapanui couple. Just a few blocks later, we found ourselves stopped by a parade on main street. Everybody important in town seem to be there. The husband speaks Spanish only and mumbles something about <span lang="es"><i><b>"Guerra del Pacífico" </b></i>(War of the Pacific)<i><b>.</b></i></span> It turns out all of Chile was celebrating <b>Naval Day</b> in honor of its historic win in this war against Peru and Bolivia.<br />
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This victory gave Chile a momentum in land grabbing. After acquiring parts of southern Peru and Bolivia, Chile took its sights on Easter Island. In 1888, a "Deed of Cession" written in Spanish granted Chilean sovereignty over the island. For many years, Chile merely leased the island to a Scottish company which turned it into a huge sheep ranch while strictly confining islanders within Hanga Roa. The islanders only received full Chilean citizenship in 1966; a simmering resentment over <i>El Conti</i> (the continent) is going on. <b>In fact, some are advocating secession today.</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boats at the Fisherman's Wharf</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little beach in Hanga Roa</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A local surfer heads out to sea late in the afternoon</td></tr>
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Not everyone of course agrees. I had a great talk with hostel owner Lory Parakati that evening. While she's grappling with English a bit, I managed to understand what she's saying: <i>Easter Island would not survive without Chile</i>. She and her family enjoy benefits even those in the mainland can only dream about - no income tax, free schooling and health care (the only hospital in town just recently got upgraded), subsidized fuel and air travel and exclusive land ownership.<br />
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As I lay in bed, fed up after getting spotty WiFi (while desperately trying to connect to Skype), the heavens opened up, pouring rain on what was once a completely barren, desolate island. I couldn't help thinking about what Lory told me. Some islanders may want independence - but just like some parched earth, it needs sustenance, it needs rain.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-75323436948241412612013-06-16T00:43:00.001-04:002013-08-07T18:38:47.852-04:00Easter Island: From Fallen Moais To Birdman Cult<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where moais used to stand</td></tr>
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<i>"What you see here is how exactly things were since the last 200 years or so"</i>, James announced as we arrived at <b>Ahu Vinapu</b>. It's a brisk early morning and I haven't completely digested everything our little group saw the previous day.<br />
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There are more stones to see. Which probably will lead me to stone-fatigue by end of the day.<br />
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On this site - composed originally of 3 <i>ahus</i> or platforms - are <i>moais</i> which remained toppled and unrestored, with many foundation stones in complete disarray, as if some giant hands pushed them all. We were standing right at the edge of the island's only airport runway and James was pretty sure jet blasts had nothing to do with this devastation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOqmB-JJJGGrfPrABYkvLRiLhDFTWqxO4gzZIPTvUGGAZ-FAPKZfvlb889bR3kpj2oznwkv5lmN6O3JA8JozwwnqP2MptnNKH3-43CuoBG2EUfSzOfn69OvkkDHsMCqdEdShPqCCKPl4/s800/DSC_3369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOqmB-JJJGGrfPrABYkvLRiLhDFTWqxO4gzZIPTvUGGAZ-FAPKZfvlb889bR3kpj2oznwkv5lmN6O3JA8JozwwnqP2MptnNKH3-43CuoBG2EUfSzOfn69OvkkDHsMCqdEdShPqCCKPl4/s800/DSC_3369.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A topknot lies where it fell</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5Q3cL6LMsqNs3bRFCeisvtcUVf6wHXOnNB3jjzoxiK62QSP6AzAiEYkFzhRgv6te5IXRV5N6wIVY59u0zc_RS8dyHngQ5WQMPhRNGNfIChUIGy4Ttl6hLVk_6kDqK1Go-OMWIdO2hP4/s800/DSC_3362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5Q3cL6LMsqNs3bRFCeisvtcUVf6wHXOnNB3jjzoxiK62QSP6AzAiEYkFzhRgv6te5IXRV5N6wIVY59u0zc_RS8dyHngQ5WQMPhRNGNfIChUIGy4Ttl6hLVk_6kDqK1Go-OMWIdO2hP4/s800/DSC_3362.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toppled moais turned into human shelter</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To some casual observer, these topsy-turvy stones can mean nothing. No interpretive signs or explanations whatsoever. With James serving as guide, he made things easier to grasp and imagine the way these <i>moais </i>were as seen by its builders. His book was a great help but there's really nothing like the author himself doing most of the talking. <br />
<br />
Two interesting things about one of the platforms came about as we circled it with wide-eyed curiosity: <b>stonework</b> and <b>recycling</b>. It is here where Rapanui stone masonry is at its finest, as if copied from the great Incas of South America. The stones were almost perfectly aligned and fitted leading to this popular theory about contact between two pre-Columbian civilizations.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYA-6gH9mFSSkAn9FDWvjRSJZsiCoAFVfQFJ8JoDiCiw0JBH-Mw6Cbqex1oqwuYh61ZigMI5JA8OV0nt9aVc6FHOM5MCmzg9cbapaTLNmffa5ZhiAqyJXsDmFjMpLdpnB-lu4XmH2_VNw/s800/DSC_3372.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYA-6gH9mFSSkAn9FDWvjRSJZsiCoAFVfQFJ8JoDiCiw0JBH-Mw6Cbqex1oqwuYh61ZigMI5JA8OV0nt9aVc6FHOM5MCmzg9cbapaTLNmffa5ZhiAqyJXsDmFjMpLdpnB-lu4XmH2_VNw/s800/DSC_3372.JPG" width="800" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUs95fbfZ9S1inVgAMWKLW7kaSPsD2S2zs7XEBeKgqLoHBNlaq-A5jBt9zks2ED0cxNRjXvktzroaJYVhUZbeXwhBO92G-ovt8X4JqP-v0Bzszn0I6Y1O5DSW1kIfmZAe7l1OdcrsDMCQ/s800/DSC_3378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUs95fbfZ9S1inVgAMWKLW7kaSPsD2S2zs7XEBeKgqLoHBNlaq-A5jBt9zks2ED0cxNRjXvktzroaJYVhUZbeXwhBO92G-ovt8X4JqP-v0Bzszn0I6Y1O5DSW1kIfmZAe7l1OdcrsDMCQ/s800/DSC_3378.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stone masonry a la Inca</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Meanwhile, 3 of the fallen <i>moais</i> which used to stand atop this platform was turned into a shelter by one of the islanders. Large stones from the platform were used to form the passageway. This may look like adding insult to injury but this apparently was done at a time when the Rapanui already lost faith and respect for deified symbols of their ancestors.<br />
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When the whole island succumbed to ecological catastrophe, the Rapanui people got more desperate for food. Eroded topsoil has rendered the island barely capable of producing any plant to eat. There were no more trees to build canoes with - either for fishing or even to escape elsewhere. <br />
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It was during Easter Island's darkest hours when the <b>Birdman Cult</b> came to be. The glory days of <i>moai </i>worship was dying only to be replaced by this new cult. In what seem like an attempt at normalcy, rival tribes resorted to competition among selected men to determine leadership in the island. Rather than kill each other to oblivion, why not rebuild and reform themselves and their culture?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjveXN8RoBfVJ5mcuFpCQWp0o_64ZxjHvDPLiEFJ9j8KbYIxEMpXUISOlyER4Lhv47zPqRRSRQHc9J-sIbnVS3IJparYAaJVNc0WZXDajxyMOgRe9YTXyLBJclcnTjDeJwgdoA_QYFow/s800/DSC_3402.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcjveXN8RoBfVJ5mcuFpCQWp0o_64ZxjHvDPLiEFJ9j8KbYIxEMpXUISOlyER4Lhv47zPqRRSRQHc9J-sIbnVS3IJparYAaJVNc0WZXDajxyMOgRe9YTXyLBJclcnTjDeJwgdoA_QYFow/s800/DSC_3402.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many petroglyphs depicting Birdman cult</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
What this involve may well be the equivalent of today's triathlon. Selected athletes representing a tribal chief competed in a game involving skills and stamina. From the ceremonial village of <b>Orongo</b>, they scale down precipitous crater cliffs and swim out using a reef surfboard to one of the islets. There they await for a chance to grab the first nesting Sooty Tern egg and return it to the island unbroken. <br />
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Winning the game is very important. Besides getting a celebrity status for a year, the winning athlete and his tribe earn privileges, most important of which is access and control of remaining resources. It was this very practice which made Rapanui society survive in a way. But just as the islanders where at their most vulnerable, Catholic missionaries arrived and converted the locals. With this new religion came the end of the Birdman cult. The last race took place in 1866.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWpZHGn94h0fly0W-o-mJ0kTonJjvdVEKNRuIbJub1YhMgU9w_5KgyRpHKcttlNh5Xp6VZt_aZKEBF5AxKN0NfqNiwjDzYWMEN_0PxOV8pjp7xOhcLfDH1-yOGkguNzKiT6XFwG755RU/s800/DSC_3391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWpZHGn94h0fly0W-o-mJ0kTonJjvdVEKNRuIbJub1YhMgU9w_5KgyRpHKcttlNh5Xp6VZt_aZKEBF5AxKN0NfqNiwjDzYWMEN_0PxOV8pjp7xOhcLfDH1-yOGkguNzKiT6XFwG755RU/s800/DSC_3391.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rano Kau crater</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXDGEtf4D6pMuvCIdk2nI0Sa2eg-IsS3GWbmYI2qfE3iAuXlUI7BDOmEIYBz_7IRbJqq3e8joLzesrKfFoBBHc-U33m8Lnuvz6xJap14vNrc1PGb31RhyphenhyphenMt0Li4GDTpAdt41e6OAz8OY/s800/DSC_3417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXDGEtf4D6pMuvCIdk2nI0Sa2eg-IsS3GWbmYI2qfE3iAuXlUI7BDOmEIYBz_7IRbJqq3e8joLzesrKfFoBBHc-U33m8Lnuvz6xJap14vNrc1PGb31RhyphenhyphenMt0Li4GDTpAdt41e6OAz8OY/s800/DSC_3417.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the crater rim walk</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uOYWzMk-sgINnQv74me7lN0CjdMvy6-Y5pPCkYrE_xBRA5_qMk9Uh_jysI4ZvBmsiPwEWQOWFClHexddAWmpdcXRzEK8ebsPNuP3sp-wfunGvwF_zWjtk5imqoG2AkFR4nZn-4tg_Pc/s1600/DSC_3450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4uOYWzMk-sgINnQv74me7lN0CjdMvy6-Y5pPCkYrE_xBRA5_qMk9Uh_jysI4ZvBmsiPwEWQOWFClHexddAWmpdcXRzEK8ebsPNuP3sp-wfunGvwF_zWjtk5imqoG2AkFR4nZn-4tg_Pc/s800/DSC_3450.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rano Kau crater @ Orongo</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
To get to Orongo, we drove first up <b>Rano Kau</b>, the largest volcanic crater on Easter Island. Peering down the edge of this caldera without any railing is seriously vertiginous and suicidal. Down below is a freshwater reed-covered lake more than a kilometer long in diameter. <br />
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We walked along the crater's edge to Orongo. What was supposedly a 15-minute walk turned into more than that as we constantly stopped to admire the stunning views. Yellow wildflowers danced in the prevailing winds. Just a few inches from the path was the cliff which so reminded me of my walk in <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2012/07/santorini.html#more">Santorini</a> a year ago. It's proximity was also a constant reminder of my mortality.<br />
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Past the Visitor's Center in Orongo (where our tickets were checked), it was a mere five minute walk to another grand vista, that of the Pacific ocean and the islets or <i>motus</i>. The biggest one among them, called <i>Motu Nui</i>, played an important part in the Birdman competition as this was where the much coveted bird's egg was fought for.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-1tTiyXGknSs6aaiT1Ak4YVMvk5GS1coKn8y22zXGSBKH6T6k6bwDAqYnqnSuVHgAnFUGhFQyQ_E0IIuEzgMULr9wSeCRRTDkbgvjErzLgu3ZZdOT39NjFaQT5zYj2Nzo2Iz7SYSBYI/s800/DSC_3448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-1tTiyXGknSs6aaiT1Ak4YVMvk5GS1coKn8y22zXGSBKH6T6k6bwDAqYnqnSuVHgAnFUGhFQyQ_E0IIuEzgMULr9wSeCRRTDkbgvjErzLgu3ZZdOT39NjFaQT5zYj2Nzo2Iz7SYSBYI/s800/DSC_3448.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 motus: Motu Kao Kao (thin islet) , Motu Iti (small islet) & Motu Nui (big islet)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtzXPTdvz5xr5GAJxOfZdPYF1l_LBl7Cr-4IDvGkI81qSBrIBGA7APjVTjSdHxkVBMwsqVkS7pcUyK4XyVm_hj2egIviKkdQkZQPX_MUNEZCenD4oBDcmrczzXFb-EiG_cyRBaEDwXsY/s800/DSC_3438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdtzXPTdvz5xr5GAJxOfZdPYF1l_LBl7Cr-4IDvGkI81qSBrIBGA7APjVTjSdHxkVBMwsqVkS7pcUyK4XyVm_hj2egIviKkdQkZQPX_MUNEZCenD4oBDcmrczzXFb-EiG_cyRBaEDwXsY/s800/DSC_3438.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orongo house with roof half-opened</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAsqqiE8m4z0u1OwCVv7UjSq4O8BK09Bzb6scgIr8xha296JBVz5qExb5qproS8110Zwk86mSHL17uHQYuooFFmJ6hzLEfChsXuGvM64X47QJL0tTtLZFZIpuJkiimSOcJJh0sXGXjBs/s800/DSC_3442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAsqqiE8m4z0u1OwCVv7UjSq4O8BK09Bzb6scgIr8xha296JBVz5qExb5qproS8110Zwk86mSHL17uHQYuooFFmJ6hzLEfChsXuGvM64X47QJL0tTtLZFZIpuJkiimSOcJJh0sXGXjBs/s800/DSC_3442.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orongo ceremonial houses</td></tr>
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Lining up parallel to the sheer cliffs are restored stone houses which make up the core of Orongo's ceremonial village. Entrances to these houses are seriously tight - as in claustrophobic tight. Visitors today are not allowed to go in but one house has its roof half-uncovered to give everyone a glimpse of how spartan living conditions were then.<br />
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Interestingly, just as people thought the islanders were done with <i>moais</i>, a group of British sailormen in 1868 saw one statue in one of these houses. This <i>moai</i> is unique not only because it's made from much harder basalt, there are carvings on its back dedicated to Birdman cult! Called <b>Hoa Hakananai'a</b> (meaning "Stolen or Hidden Friend"), the statue was brought as a souvenir back to England and is now housed at the British Museum.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2QIaTxJ26szYD3fGNtFovlR2eQMCnMPSpskWXq7KrphXQ4RC_2Q_-WXxH8znoTkIpc-2JIykJBaGBhnh0qW0ChlZ9-w4jpmNikar1uc_EgRwXsPoXRLn7NTHj_kJceUMaZ-ZfgbF9R4/s800/DSC_3491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo2QIaTxJ26szYD3fGNtFovlR2eQMCnMPSpskWXq7KrphXQ4RC_2Q_-WXxH8znoTkIpc-2JIykJBaGBhnh0qW0ChlZ9-w4jpmNikar1uc_EgRwXsPoXRLn7NTHj_kJceUMaZ-ZfgbF9R4/s800/DSC_3491.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Topknots below the quarry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPD-Nmfsz0WxfuVhBlLBSDJstRow8S9Kxaqpxele2InNcJdE_8KwAhomqT90DQKNXfHjC6bCsjpnzCmw5qgvKs-v0oMZSWytWMe384TZI9P1lMixPcIGGTXKomvMZ6B7IOw-1fiNxr1c/s800/DSC_3487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrPD-Nmfsz0WxfuVhBlLBSDJstRow8S9Kxaqpxele2InNcJdE_8KwAhomqT90DQKNXfHjC6bCsjpnzCmw5qgvKs-v0oMZSWytWMe384TZI9P1lMixPcIGGTXKomvMZ6B7IOw-1fiNxr1c/s800/DSC_3487.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Puna Pau quarry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The <i>moai </i>topknot (or<i> pukao</i>) was quarried from the small volcanic crater <b>Puna Pau</b> so that's where James brought us next. Red scoria is what the islanders used to make into <i>pukaos</i>. Weighing up to 12 tons each, these headdresses were added later on after the statues have been erected. Not all <i>moais</i> wore topknots.<br />
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Remains of topknots lay not far from where we left the car. It's not clear whether these were "rejects" or were actually waiting for transport. A short hike up the crater got us rewarded with a view not only of the actual quarry but also of downtown <b>Hanga Roa </b>as well.<br />
<br />
While <i>moais</i> have been traditionally built along the coasts facing inland (meant to offer protection to a village), one exception is <b>Ahu Akivi</b>. We drove about 3 kms away from the sea and into this platform crowned with seven monoliths. The site was the first platform to be fully restored in 1960.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBvyQabr0L93bnv3oNRktcr3J4TjtKuUnZVvTsvsCTZdA1nNjgTjz0JUpqgfnvU0ilXd3Bu9kkE91De7CP-jQp4ytGcL5X6ouqSarwLxIViugN0RXfX2AoGhSrpoSxLrHr21WAARcDbc/s800/DSC_3500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBvyQabr0L93bnv3oNRktcr3J4TjtKuUnZVvTsvsCTZdA1nNjgTjz0JUpqgfnvU0ilXd3Bu9kkE91De7CP-jQp4ytGcL5X6ouqSarwLxIViugN0RXfX2AoGhSrpoSxLrHr21WAARcDbc/s800/DSC_3500.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moai moment @ Ahu Akivi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZ3RXIrw_D52dnD319o_-_cwCvsoekBv7GsQXyZYBfMs5FQteSEwnPjbe1erRCd9UQ-Vu9OgJGwRI_gT5PVqZM7ChRcWIk-i8qe8d-XmU90IZoxw-VHHJR_vgNZ7j6yPE-f9pE1-SB3o/s800/DSC_3507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZ3RXIrw_D52dnD319o_-_cwCvsoekBv7GsQXyZYBfMs5FQteSEwnPjbe1erRCd9UQ-Vu9OgJGwRI_gT5PVqZM7ChRcWIk-i8qe8d-XmU90IZoxw-VHHJR_vgNZ7j6yPE-f9pE1-SB3o/s800/DSC_3507.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Akivi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZiVzhNet3VWAk_pY-THAGLDHncBoqzEsZWiNZ4r2wtsQMbTKMqkqdQmoIRbRvbxResslUsSvS1wZL9L-wu0K5JoRfUDvX82JvyPIrEOp7JVxrpdbO2h4zkT7DlCdfQaFgRDXochaRBE/s800/DSC_3508.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZiVzhNet3VWAk_pY-THAGLDHncBoqzEsZWiNZ4r2wtsQMbTKMqkqdQmoIRbRvbxResslUsSvS1wZL9L-wu0K5JoRfUDvX82JvyPIrEOp7JVxrpdbO2h4zkT7DlCdfQaFgRDXochaRBE/s800/DSC_3508.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Akivi</td></tr>
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From the interior, we went back to the coast. Near Hanga Roa is <b>Ana Kai Tangata</b>, offering us one of the best coastal views not only in Easter Island but anywhere else in the world. The wild surf and the furious sound is nothing like I've seen and heard before. This is just another part of the island where the Pacific ocean hammers it incessantly and yet fights back holding its ground above water.<br />
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Anyone who've seen the movie <a href="http://youtu.be/R-tgpzixe3M">Rapanui</a> may remember the last scene where Noro (Jason Scott Lee) and Ramana (Sandrine Holt) was leaving the island with their baby on a canoe for good. That scene was taken right in front of the cave at Ana Kai Tangata.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNP9C64z_85LWVhORfKnpjQkeJ3v3QTPyr8AKX9QknP2gHiT0qVgap6zDTIJUxXlYfbEdzbFSZDbDMcjtmllBf8f5dQ4P52PEc9f5F3u031xHa3kkmtFNRU3KUJNF3I0ZdhaELhF0f3ZU/s800/DSC_3519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNP9C64z_85LWVhORfKnpjQkeJ3v3QTPyr8AKX9QknP2gHiT0qVgap6zDTIJUxXlYfbEdzbFSZDbDMcjtmllBf8f5dQ4P52PEc9f5F3u031xHa3kkmtFNRU3KUJNF3I0ZdhaELhF0f3ZU/s800/DSC_3519.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cliff-side fishing at Ana Kai Tangata</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlNR6wgop8oD2v1WcpcIyGFFYV4RpUmmx3yEKd_JFTJhCCYY1WNFrNlRnRGsP08slwAIcbFhnO-EgO9QUUIaafYHZQMgfbaPiZgzbuudoAYKF4-eivvXAASEprRTYTg-S9gJgC1Ujd0JM/s800/DSC_3563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlNR6wgop8oD2v1WcpcIyGFFYV4RpUmmx3yEKd_JFTJhCCYY1WNFrNlRnRGsP08slwAIcbFhnO-EgO9QUUIaafYHZQMgfbaPiZgzbuudoAYKF4-eivvXAASEprRTYTg-S9gJgC1Ujd0JM/s800/DSC_3563.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cave painting</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXLAlqgV46TorQOQpkcbOqS0kC1VekNV0xAQelomI9-ND0JiMvGNOi-B7pG9XhWmv12T3J5XUMioi-8OwiMUCkM5o0Ws8zjY_b7TScOgRYk8j98xyg1rKEZn0gFYQlT9QzvHODdJgzhEE/s800/DSC_3532.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXLAlqgV46TorQOQpkcbOqS0kC1VekNV0xAQelomI9-ND0JiMvGNOi-B7pG9XhWmv12T3J5XUMioi-8OwiMUCkM5o0Ws8zjY_b7TScOgRYk8j98xyg1rKEZn0gFYQlT9QzvHODdJgzhEE/s800/DSC_3532.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not diving in there</td></tr>
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There are steps leading down to the cave - which creepily means "man-eating cave". Up on the ceiling are what remains of a painting depicting birds in flight, all related to the Birdman cult. They're almost completely gone as parts of the ceiling cracked and fell to the ground over the centuries. <br />
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We sat on the rocks, our sights glued at the pounding waves, our thoughts filled with a timely parable: that the Rapanui people and this island they live on has a lesson for the rest of the world to learn from. No, getting stone-fatigue isn't one of them.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-22585968249630249702013-06-10T00:00:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:38:47.845-04:00Stone Sentinels of Easter Island<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "traveling moai" stands guard at Ahu Tongariki</td></tr>
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<br />
Before flying to Rapa Nui, I watched the Oscar-nominated movie <a href="http://www.kontikidefilm.com/">Kon-Tiki</a> which chronicles <b>Thor Heyerdhal</b> and his ballsy real-life high seas voyage on a balsa wood raft. He sailed in 1947 from Peru across the Pacific Ocean to prove ancient people from South America migrated westwards to Polynesia - a theory now proven wrong since current archaeological, linguistic and genetic data supports otherwise.<br />
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While my own voyage took a mere 5 hours from mainland Chile, Heyerdahl and his crew took a grueling 101 days to reach Raroia atoll in French Polynesia far away to the northwest of <b>Rapa Nui</b>. Heyerdahl's voyage showed even a primitive raft can sail on a restless ocean the same way ancient people did when they first came ashore on<b> </b>a lush Rapa Nui<b> </b>sometime between 600 A.D. and 900 A.D. - this after having sailed eastward from one of the islands in French Polynesia. Oral history mentions <i>Te Pito O Te Henua</i> as the island's original name, meaning "navel of the world" (the name Rapa Nui only came about in mid-19th century). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtdRqhUg1WrBJbX8q513KouIqpLlYtRsC2WL-uKJ2OoBjJUC0AnLKsreMh1aWuTePLAZ_sVD9U-eD3E98EPHCU44lm22SZiHLA3VSygd3OnKmClKTdCo77ugt5OPPq9bmV5DDhjXL0VY/s800/DSC_3073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQtdRqhUg1WrBJbX8q513KouIqpLlYtRsC2WL-uKJ2OoBjJUC0AnLKsreMh1aWuTePLAZ_sVD9U-eD3E98EPHCU44lm22SZiHLA3VSygd3OnKmClKTdCo77ugt5OPPq9bmV5DDhjXL0VY/s800/DSC_3073.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Nau Nau</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJp3GCPniizRfGdkOmHyc0-eYcUNI1LEbR29AmriVNpOkAziHbkoAyYYi8KIbxdL5IYbAUKklLJge4Pxzh2ZakRF_noxKuErmj6pbqjWsap6wCWoVbQhkR23NzJjXd2Y4IjEITC-f9HtM/s800/DSC_3080_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJp3GCPniizRfGdkOmHyc0-eYcUNI1LEbR29AmriVNpOkAziHbkoAyYYi8KIbxdL5IYbAUKklLJge4Pxzh2ZakRF_noxKuErmj6pbqjWsap6wCWoVbQhkR23NzJjXd2Y4IjEITC-f9HtM/s800/DSC_3080_1.jpg" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Nau Nau (with visible petroglyph on platform)</td></tr>
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Years after establishing themselves amidst abundant natural resources, the settlers began carving <i>moais</i> or statues out of volcanic rock. It wasn't just because they have nothing better to do with their hands. Ancient Polynesians believed in ancestor worship. By carving statues to honor an important deceased member of family or tribe, that person's<b><i> mana</i></b> or spiritual power is thought to offer protection and influence events long after death.<br />
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<i>Mana</i> however seemed more like a ticking time bomb. As the Rapanui carved more statues, with each tribe trying to build bigger ones, ecocide gradually crept into the island. Large swathes of giant palm trees were cut for firewood, farming, house-building and of course, transporting <i>moais</i>. With diminishing resources and no nearby island to move into, Rapa Nui erupted into tribal warfare and even cannibalism.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Ature Huki: first toppled <i>moai</i> <br />
restored on Easter Island by Heyerdahl</td></tr>
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<i><br /></i><i>Moais</i>, standing tall, mysterious and proud on <i>ahus</i> or platforms, became the next victims. <i>Ahus</i> were considered sacred as these were mostly the burial sites of Rapanui ancestors. However, as tribal feuds escalated, the Rapanui lost their belief and respect for these monoliths. Warring tribes began toppling each other's statues as an act of revenge. The last time any outsider ever saw upright statues were in 1838. <br />
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There are currently 887<i> moais </i>scattered in various sites around this 63-square mile island. Some are restored, many are still toppled while a whole lot remain half-buried in their volcanic quarry with only heads sticking up.Those restored were done so by archeologists from 1950s onwards.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anakena Beach</td></tr>
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In order for visitors to see the most important ones today, one needs to spend at least 3 full days at this far-flung UNESCO World Heritage site and choose these options: 1) rent a car and brave a do-it-yourself tour 2) join a bus tour with bilingual guide in Spanish/English or 3) get a private tour. Entrance tickets can be bought at the airport or in <b>Orongo</b> and <b>Rano Raraku</b> for 60 USD (foreign visitors) and 20 USD (Chileans) - valid for 5 days.<br />
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In my search for a guidebook prior to the trip, I found<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Companion-Easter-Island-Guide-Rapa/dp/9563326415"> <b>"A Companion To Easter Island"</b></a> written by James Grant-Peterkin, a Scotsman who actually lives there. As soon as I got hold of a copy, I found out the author himself does conduct private tours. Since it's expensive, I e-mailed him about sharing costs with other travelers. Luckily, 3 others (who I found out later were on the same flight as me) were eyeing the same guide and was looking at doing the same thing I had in mind.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Te Pito Kura and a toppled <i>moai</i> </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James trying to get<i> mana </i>from the "Navel of the World" stone</td></tr>
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We eventually agreed on having James guide us for the next 3 days for $340 per person (including lunch). It's still costly for sure but what better way to explore and understand a mysterious destination like Rapa Nui than be guided by the author himself? The next day after my arrival, James picked me up at the hostel and soon met up with the three others: Angie, Chris and Harlan - all from the US. <br />
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Since James first visited Easter Island in 1996 and thereafter conducted fieldwork related to his Spanish Linguistics study at Cambridge University, he felt a connection that has never been severed. He not only live on the island for more than a decade now, he speaks Rapanui like a true local. More importantly for me was his valuable knowledge about the island. He even knew just when to properly time the visit to avoid tourist buses as well as get the best light for photography.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild flowers abloom </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0CHEeE-8vrRDcU8x56mo9RihV80npgPiIOsG1SBwiYNrdN64RIOMaQxb06b_tiQ9eLtTziFxsaA_QUiN7JySlQQAENCMftk4kNXcjqHJbFj9gLe1Me5a96T3jdAnVtN5FoF3T-NMc_s/s800/DSC_3122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd0CHEeE-8vrRDcU8x56mo9RihV80npgPiIOsG1SBwiYNrdN64RIOMaQxb06b_tiQ9eLtTziFxsaA_QUiN7JySlQQAENCMftk4kNXcjqHJbFj9gLe1Me5a96T3jdAnVtN5FoF3T-NMc_s/s800/DSC_3122.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view of Poike</td></tr>
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After leaving town past the airport, James drove us for about half an hour to <b>Anakena Beach</b> - the widest of the two white sand beaches where the original settlers came ashore. This was the site of the island's first settlement. Unlike the rest of the island's coastline, the water here is calm. Today, coconut trees imported from Tahiti make it look like a Polynesian beach paradise.<br />
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Past the palm trees and right in front of the beach is <b>Ahu Nau Nau</b>, painstakingly restored in 1978 by the island's first Rapanui archaeologist Sergio Rapu. Because these <i>moais</i> were discovered buried in the beach, most of the intricate details were saved from the harsh elements of nature: small hands resting on abdomen, prominent eyebrow ridge, longer ears, longer nose, red <i>pukao</i> (topknots) on oversized heads. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf1CN85RvL1rxv18dparqsB9FtIS9XBVhT-ucF1YEzI-M6abB35oTNBS7m77212H6SfZaaDHX9TGXZgNLpboo0LCNhnjULVGDZXUHCdStByCKbTGpNPON9DLa_RjUZgeeGq2XwyjN2i0/s800/DSC_3182_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf1CN85RvL1rxv18dparqsB9FtIS9XBVhT-ucF1YEzI-M6abB35oTNBS7m77212H6SfZaaDHX9TGXZgNLpboo0LCNhnjULVGDZXUHCdStByCKbTGpNPON9DLa_RjUZgeeGq2XwyjN2i0/s800/DSC_3182_1.jpg" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Tongariki</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpknNLSkN8iBDJ-5cBiC2-qewzn8Cjqezr7fAQARh5oWie3185TzEVEJVnQLx0KhxyseXZeLC_h5InfVMxkGzpaalbAaDFB2X6SSoUbOD2WZAvq_vAb-xZWUVWkrHpUT9gqYNKVHJ0J8/s800/DSC_3141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqpknNLSkN8iBDJ-5cBiC2-qewzn8Cjqezr7fAQARh5oWie3185TzEVEJVnQLx0KhxyseXZeLC_h5InfVMxkGzpaalbAaDFB2X6SSoUbOD2WZAvq_vAb-xZWUVWkrHpUT9gqYNKVHJ0J8/s800/DSC_3141.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Tongariki</td></tr>
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Close by is another platform with a single <i>moai</i> sporting a rather primitive look. This is <b>Ahu Ature Huki</b>, the first <i>moai</i> in the island to be re-erected by Thor Heyerdahl and his team in 1956. Heyerdahl wanted to apply his theory on how the <i>moais</i> were raised by their builders unto the platforms. It was a tedious task given a <i>moai's</i> average weight is 12 tons (the heaviest is 86 tons!).<br />
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It was a pleasant day, the sun was out and soon other visitors trickled in. Swimming wasn't in my mind and so were the others in my little group. We just walked further, past old stone houses and sat on the grass overlooking the beach - one of the most relaxing vistas I've seen in a long time. James was in no rush himself to lead us back to the car.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRQUG_jX9ByGXu-zxZzfWvfiJazPQV2UD2vxWPv-245911s4jn3tcWVJIT7o9ArucIHdP6hJ7ifEQKoiyLu-q8Xd0QBEyHBmrFbMaivAKi9Q1-Rvk55SjETYKBGKiHG29ihtFuoxz3NI/s800/DSC_3179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRQUG_jX9ByGXu-zxZzfWvfiJazPQV2UD2vxWPv-245911s4jn3tcWVJIT7o9ArucIHdP6hJ7ifEQKoiyLu-q8Xd0QBEyHBmrFbMaivAKi9Q1-Rvk55SjETYKBGKiHG29ihtFuoxz3NI/s800/DSC_3179.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sacred stones</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Xlkea1tKxGwkYlOHVzYN1x-S2abjDjBhB7tnfVqMbLLdq4AXsKXRWQ2OU8AmheBGi-cS-GMcgXo0bbJSaqG97oJIK7QF1IiapVfAgNhkJej7HA6iTK7gKBSbt7MPuoAqka-v8NCgfUg/s800/DSC_3139_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Xlkea1tKxGwkYlOHVzYN1x-S2abjDjBhB7tnfVqMbLLdq4AXsKXRWQ2OU8AmheBGi-cS-GMcgXo0bbJSaqG97oJIK7QF1IiapVfAgNhkJej7HA6iTK7gKBSbt7MPuoAqka-v8NCgfUg/s800/DSC_3139_1.jpg" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cheesy <i>moai</i> moment</td></tr>
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From the beach, we traveled on the northeast coast to <b>Ahu Te Pito Kura</b>, an unrestored platform with a solitary <i>moai</i> left to lie after being toppled more than 200 years back. This fallen statue called "Paro", weighing almost 80 tons and 10 meters tall, is the largest ever which came out from the Rano Raraku quarry and raised unto a platform. Its own topknot lies nearby as well.<br />
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To the side of this platform and right along the rugged beach is a large round stone with four smaller stones called "the navel of the world'. It doesn't look much but local legend dates this back to the time of <b>Hotu Matu'a </b>- the first Rapanui king - who allegedly brought the stone with him from another island in Polynesia. It is supposedly rich in <i>mana</i> so, as cheesy as it may look, we each took turns pressing our palms against the stone trying to harness energy from it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvLxp299TqfQ3e4T6hP3wG5d-m8bowpctcrcWsfPe6LcNd5xOcl3Dm22vQbM7X6G-4MWqGEIx-lWb_JhypZ2tuv9YlCrMYUjxRkydfJldpq2zA7GnXvmq7kbwXSLiFSdyBctAvKjOeNs/s800/DSC_3131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFvLxp299TqfQ3e4T6hP3wG5d-m8bowpctcrcWsfPe6LcNd5xOcl3Dm22vQbM7X6G-4MWqGEIx-lWb_JhypZ2tuv9YlCrMYUjxRkydfJldpq2zA7GnXvmq7kbwXSLiFSdyBctAvKjOeNs/s800/DSC_3131.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rano Raraku</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZMy_5QxOSBJ7zWF6hMN0VI8tQH3gSe9PC60qDIi1zo97ADLzFAHJgqtMBmIY5J-UG5vWMeKD2zu9AWEI-As_R3FISXEF9-vzIKn65qU-ewxYE0WA4w0ei_hYlJ3rpk78Qx3rEJZ7XtA/s800/DSC_3312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJZMy_5QxOSBJ7zWF6hMN0VI8tQH3gSe9PC60qDIi1zo97ADLzFAHJgqtMBmIY5J-UG5vWMeKD2zu9AWEI-As_R3FISXEF9-vzIKn65qU-ewxYE0WA4w0ei_hYlJ3rpk78Qx3rEJZ7XtA/s800/DSC_3312.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rano Raraku crater</td></tr>
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Rapa Nui is a volcanic island but all its 3 main volcanoes and some 70 lesser cones are all considered extinct. <b>Poike</b> was the first volcano to erupt three million years ago. We drove on dirt roads rimmed with blooming wildflowers to a gorgeous bay with a great view of this extinct volcano. Since we were the only ones there, we stood in awe listening to the sound of pounding surf like a cadenza in a concerto.<br />
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If the <i>moais </i>were all standing up today and pitted in a beauty contest, then surely <b>Ahu Tongariki</b> will win hands down for its immensity and scale. There are 15 moais standing tall and proud, like badass sentinels watching over the entire island. This <i>ahu</i> is the largest, stretching 220 meters from end to end which makes it the granddaddy of all Polynesian ceremonial platforms.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWafRgnd7fOCfWAiqpamQ5KckyBbx59HqiZGzVwo45dR3Tp-0DO4JaT9GC_0dv2a61XRwvmMO2pRRfwpBctX0tVGFLo4LQ8WXw7L2QEGRZZ1dLSuEZk55nKQ0juj4Qc44L7BYjO-azaVE/s800/DSC_3205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWafRgnd7fOCfWAiqpamQ5KckyBbx59HqiZGzVwo45dR3Tp-0DO4JaT9GC_0dv2a61XRwvmMO2pRRfwpBctX0tVGFLo4LQ8WXw7L2QEGRZZ1dLSuEZk55nKQ0juj4Qc44L7BYjO-azaVE/s800/DSC_3205.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Head-hunting at Rano Raraku quarry</td></tr>
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Ahu Tongariki was restored in the mid-1990s by Chileans with work funded by the Japanese government. As a gesture of gratitude, the Chilean government allowed one<i> moai</i> to travel to Japan and be part of a temporary exhibit in trade fairs. Upon its return, this so-called "traveling moai" was permanently placed at the entrance to Ahu Tongariki.<br />
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Our last stop was the main quarry for <i>moais</i> at <b>Rano Raraku</b>. These incomplete sculptures with half-buried torsos are iconic of Rapa Nui. In the old days, this was the showroom for tribal leaders - where they peruse on designs and hope on snagging the best one worthy to be erected on the <i>ahu</i>. We spent the longest time here, walking along the paths, gawking at these big heads poking out from the side of this ancient volcanic crater. Truly the highlight of the day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7X7ODcheFB6AYXD9iAAL56js4WR_unIORBUd2G6pqn_Po2jiF8lspxw7aRPvVLvPTOmhxU7c_QnO7bZ3CfrZl9UUqCQjf50joQH3jNEmcYMwg-1Vcoig2JUxDdDzUreNn4q9KZN7ZoA/s800/DSC_3234.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7X7ODcheFB6AYXD9iAAL56js4WR_unIORBUd2G6pqn_Po2jiF8lspxw7aRPvVLvPTOmhxU7c_QnO7bZ3CfrZl9UUqCQjf50joQH3jNEmcYMwg-1Vcoig2JUxDdDzUreNn4q9KZN7ZoA/s800/DSC_3234.JPG" width="800" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeBso2soXaDJMVaJ-thY50IrDlZT51QuHbCGwM4ry8g4wnE_yiVUzWHhYj8Y5_ywS7dzcucEkeVZDZcqGUWgVLCgdsgZbunvKziWYjWJvtu3R4aqzySWTNVvsLdcCOI4G_wOQDlMl8zw/s800/DSC_3295_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMeBso2soXaDJMVaJ-thY50IrDlZT51QuHbCGwM4ry8g4wnE_yiVUzWHhYj8Y5_ywS7dzcucEkeVZDZcqGUWgVLCgdsgZbunvKziWYjWJvtu3R4aqzySWTNVvsLdcCOI4G_wOQDlMl8zw/s800/DSC_3295_1.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only these stones could talk</td></tr>
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Rano Raraku's stone is made of hardened volcanic ash known as tuff. Since the material is softer, it was easier to work with (compared to basalt which is another material used) although carving one large <i>moai</i> alone using stone tools was still a major undertaking. It took a team of Rapanui sculptors supervised by a master carver to complete the task in about two years. Imagine the worker's frustration when a finished <i>moai </i>gets disapproved by a tribal leader?<br />
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There are 397<i> moais</i> in the quarry and plenty more now buried after many years of soil erosion from the slopes above. Some were still in the process of being carved, lying there like an enormous project still waiting to be completed. From our perch on the crater side, James pointed at what used to be the "<i>moai</i> road" where finished statues were transported. A good number got broken in the process, not making it to their final destination. They lie there where they were left off, like a roadkill for posterity.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-9958112049249588492013-06-02T00:00:00.000-04:002013-08-07T18:38:47.864-04:00To One of the World's Most Remote Destinations<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobtU6xa0QWzssD1xEGtyLlgRA9JdeSGzb7jWUoTdbSo771qkl2cW6tkv1lEZl-ExK09w2OIys7alCVAhb4WzBWWCXdF1iF76wngG9sQMab03IgCEUepSuY4fmIpVxSqae7Y1tWwIJDTM/s800/DSC_2920.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobtU6xa0QWzssD1xEGtyLlgRA9JdeSGzb7jWUoTdbSo771qkl2cW6tkv1lEZl-ExK09w2OIys7alCVAhb4WzBWWCXdF1iF76wngG9sQMab03IgCEUepSuY4fmIpVxSqae7Y1tWwIJDTM/s800/DSC_2920.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How often does one see Isla de Pascua on a flight monitor?</td></tr>
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Flying long-haul may be a routine for many, even a punishment for some, but I always look forward to all of them. It's not just a means to a destination for me but an experience in and of itself. Especially this one, booked at such a great price for a premium class it's almost too good to be true. Never mind if it involves 3 flights to <b>Rapa Nui</b>,<b> </b>AKA <b>Isla de Pascua</b> or <b>Easter Island</b>.<br />
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As soon as I got off the AirTrain from Jamaica Station in Queens, I headed straight for the First Class check-in where I was promptly served. After getting quizzed by a puzzled American Airlines agent, I got my boarding passes: one for the American Airlines segment from New York to Miami and two for the Lan Chile segments from Miami to Santiago to Easter Island.<br />
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With about two hours to kill before the flight, I trekked to the American Airlines lounge<b> Admiral's Club</b>. It's airside which meant great views of the tarmac. Despite being given coupons for booze, I merely opted for a cup of cappuccino and a sandwich. Admiral's Club really isn't at par with most Asian carrier's premium lounges as far as food offering is concerned.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdi6dtx6FEbXPR7vr5MPNn8LrXpzadSft76EPVFYpoAs2W0KKKpRomIGBv-aTNljVbVUD4EbhMYU_LyhekF9tVQIqKuO_DuVSg_FVBs0Vz9BxXIIJVCnhYpDTk9eoRQzhjsYVLb-wdjU/s800/DSC_2878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEdi6dtx6FEbXPR7vr5MPNn8LrXpzadSft76EPVFYpoAs2W0KKKpRomIGBv-aTNljVbVUD4EbhMYU_LyhekF9tVQIqKuO_DuVSg_FVBs0Vz9BxXIIJVCnhYpDTk9eoRQzhjsYVLb-wdjU/s800/DSC_2878.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Admiral's Club at JFK</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PeBr2b3w278CSAUd6C9JUOjmnaodl9ihHLZHSiHIqF5agrMFHmRGsIWBH21FU15o0oUfgsyjhvl4rspfC0R6XNudeThGNTQmCIkbqAfTMOLGFXDvFyXIdYwIZd3QdkP80BTPPgUmYaM/s800/DSC_2883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PeBr2b3w278CSAUd6C9JUOjmnaodl9ihHLZHSiHIqF5agrMFHmRGsIWBH21FU15o0oUfgsyjhvl4rspfC0R6XNudeThGNTQmCIkbqAfTMOLGFXDvFyXIdYwIZd3QdkP80BTPPgUmYaM/s800/DSC_2883.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tarmac views at Admiral's Club</td></tr>
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There were plenty of seating as expected. I parked myself at one of the PCs which was wired to fast Internet. WiFi was also available. Remembering there are no boarding announcements in the lounge, I left the lounge half an hour before departure. That 10 minute walk meant by the time I got to the gate, boarding was already underway. No worries, I was waved through as one agent saw my boarding pass.<br />
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At the door of the B767, a lady purser directed me to my seat at 5A. Juice was offered by a flight attendant. My seatmate arrived only to request a swap with her husband who was seated at 4G, an aisle seat. Not wanting to separate couples on this 2+hour flight, I happily obliged and moved to my new seat, making sure one of the flight attendants was aware. They thanked me profusely.<br />
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Flight left on-time and once at cruising altitude, in-flight service commenced. A ramekin of warm mixed nuts along with a requested Diet Coke was brought. What's notable lately with American Airlines is the ability to book meals ahead of flight (same as <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2012/09/singapore-airlines-singapore-seoul.html">Singapore Airlines</a> albeit with limited choices). Having chosen cold grilled beef salad online, the flight attendant working my aisle noted it after knowing I moved to a new seat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDeHTZZ6W00M7MUACO9OSCQ66Qq2JzUDp2guTY60UolINGFrTsEe1cEss1zKTxsw2NnBh0ufxbczhjH5QD8A_rCmDvhnBIQ8G05tmPtJDBGdEYXv_mzkyMzsTTPnh32yb93VywXyXTk4/s800/DSC_2885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDeHTZZ6W00M7MUACO9OSCQ66Qq2JzUDp2guTY60UolINGFrTsEe1cEss1zKTxsw2NnBh0ufxbczhjH5QD8A_rCmDvhnBIQ8G05tmPtJDBGdEYXv_mzkyMzsTTPnh32yb93VywXyXTk4/s800/DSC_2885.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American Airlines Business Class</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAmMnD4HM-f89FHbtIq2OmJl0mZNf0VPjob3Vqpdp4cJJa_ZJclju5OE6eG8FXgRhd8_pT6JFG713jDhBdMCXgWYCX5vaeCe47YClbZ2arZ2m3djRtgvZQaT8pUC9KFqc05yCBmg-DxE/s800/DSC_2890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAmMnD4HM-f89FHbtIq2OmJl0mZNf0VPjob3Vqpdp4cJJa_ZJclju5OE6eG8FXgRhd8_pT6JFG713jDhBdMCXgWYCX5vaeCe47YClbZ2arZ2m3djRtgvZQaT8pUC9KFqc05yCBmg-DxE/s800/DSC_2890.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diet Coke and mixed nuts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlhOa3m0w4gkplLW5gyuWh70e9XkBY8zyy_DYLz6KQ4HZdwerPztdU-EHb-AH5aWNxMyCnEYrTgW5aork3bqgbW-ql0LIx9khGraKvexnqAp0EFfqFeGOM38BnyF9NQwvlzB6tz0bsYU/s800/DSC_2893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlhOa3m0w4gkplLW5gyuWh70e9XkBY8zyy_DYLz6KQ4HZdwerPztdU-EHb-AH5aWNxMyCnEYrTgW5aork3bqgbW-ql0LIx9khGraKvexnqAp0EFfqFeGOM38BnyF9NQwvlzB6tz0bsYU/s800/DSC_2893.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In-flight meal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
On this plane, seats were angle-lie flat which is currently being replaced with those similar to Cathay Pacific business class. For a 2+hour flight, my seat was perfectly fine. Tried several options and found the"z" position the most comfortable for lounging. It was past 3 PM local time as I munched on my salad. Tasted not so good. Quite bland in fact.The veggies at least were fresh & crisp.<br />
<br />
Just before descent to Miami, the flight attendants passed around freshly baked cookies and another refill of Diet Coke for me. On-time arrival meant my lay-over in Miami was effectively set at 4 hours before my Lan Chile flight at 10:30 PM. Heading over to Lan Chile's contracted lounge <b>Club America</b> was disappointing. It was crowded with only snacks and booze bar available. Decided to kill my time at its business center instead where PCs were available.<br />
<br />
There are 2 evening flights from Miami to Santiago on Lan Chile. Tried to ask at the gate for the earlier flight since I only had a carry-on but was told it's full. Headed back to the lounge, spent more time checking e-mails but ignored lounge food despite getting hungry. No boarding announcements were made so I went to my assigned gate at 10:00 PM only to find the flight is delayed due to the aircraft's late arrival.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4ygBpWVaf08nxpiSEoSJWJAoTOUqB3eprqr0inwxsfoqzqVsyZVI-gAoSRx4f5OUm6jd56dIwLqmnysLw-eq1MHQQBmUbpeCM5qc2An5JOwVTsXyluxsnH7GY0cMSVRaFupYvMvl7_s/s800/DSC_2895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4ygBpWVaf08nxpiSEoSJWJAoTOUqB3eprqr0inwxsfoqzqVsyZVI-gAoSRx4f5OUm6jd56dIwLqmnysLw-eq1MHQQBmUbpeCM5qc2An5JOwVTsXyluxsnH7GY0cMSVRaFupYvMvl7_s/s800/DSC_2895.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lan Chile's Business Class</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbjM5GX6w84b9X4_UueT0ZgR5EG6EZlrPenmdfmjUIKxSaYZP_hX2jP5UuYptAZcEB_TYo1yIR_uMSlnPHuXDFMVrTo4forKrmA3gS7PWe_DVcqw0z_hd9O5HGgULR41VKzuJ8mkWwvM/s800/DSC_2899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbjM5GX6w84b9X4_UueT0ZgR5EG6EZlrPenmdfmjUIKxSaYZP_hX2jP5UuYptAZcEB_TYo1yIR_uMSlnPHuXDFMVrTo4forKrmA3gS7PWe_DVcqw0z_hd9O5HGgULR41VKzuJ8mkWwvM/s800/DSC_2899.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Generous seat pitch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhyphenhyphenqA7S6SQNxHJX09ZcIw6-pLamRhKcLqDoaLfbAd79F0zLLkPbw4F73xyxfsqZv1rMoFb4iOZwPwFI6ELbylo4a2j8Lr0RoGGL7VZbB1L0_wNfDXwWUh2ZyLu2Yfaz1ByXMRYmC27zk/s800/DSC_2903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGhyphenhyphenqA7S6SQNxHJX09ZcIw6-pLamRhKcLqDoaLfbAd79F0zLLkPbw4F73xyxfsqZv1rMoFb4iOZwPwFI6ELbylo4a2j8Lr0RoGGL7VZbB1L0_wNfDXwWUh2ZyLu2Yfaz1ByXMRYmC27zk/s800/DSC_2903.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pisco sour and a ramekin of nuts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This delay got me worried. Only had a little over an hour of connecting time in Santiago before my next flight. If I miss the flight to Easter Island, it would mean I won't fly until after another day. Passengers already formed a big queue at the gate even though boarding wasn't even started. At 10:45 PM, the gate agents finally let us through.<br />
<br />
Lan Chile's B767 for this flight has new cabin interiors. Business class seating is configured 2x2x2 for 30 passengers. Quite comfortable especially since it turns into a completely flat bed. As soon as I was seated, a flight attendant offered to hang my jacket. Someone else asked what I'd like to drink - why, <b>Pisco sour</b> of course (Chile's national drink).<br />
<br />
<i>Salvatore Ferragamo</i> flight amenity kits were handed out soon along with arrival cards. Since no slippers were offered (like <a href="http://www.nomadicpinoy.com/2012/09/asiana-airlines-seoul-new-york.html">Asiana</a>), I got my own and slipped out from my shoes. Nothing makes me more "at home" than just wearing flip flops on longer flights. It's also a known fact: our feet gets swollen mid-flight as we sit there inactive for many hours.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2cxZFb-P3wxkVbWK2rZmzdXQWMZ0obHXSTjCPjBBlO1qJxPhbe2hyBcOPpnd15q4x2RRounxl4bttwXFxRqPMhiG_UsLbTwOaxRUKEZTAv6XsdjE4Tq911jX1fKmPW7Dsr4wR41U-mA/s800/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK2cxZFb-P3wxkVbWK2rZmzdXQWMZ0obHXSTjCPjBBlO1qJxPhbe2hyBcOPpnd15q4x2RRounxl4bttwXFxRqPMhiG_UsLbTwOaxRUKEZTAv6XsdjE4Tq911jX1fKmPW7Dsr4wR41U-mA/s800/1.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amenity kit: Salvatore Ferragamo moisturizer, lip balm, face cream, <br />
socks, comb, mirror, toothbrush, toothpaste, shoe horn & shoe bag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6A2mOkonjuGj6gWMy1_j7wQlt2HPuq2t6uqp0wiH-IwG8aRxKOBvQDxfD8tb9-NNz5ILjMGBDJeXlRVY-DvfTDRIDRTqMG_IyttRqSDDTdKMdJxnCptYIwcHt8MLbIwhN8ljtIm5UYXI/s800/DSC_2908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6A2mOkonjuGj6gWMy1_j7wQlt2HPuq2t6uqp0wiH-IwG8aRxKOBvQDxfD8tb9-NNz5ILjMGBDJeXlRVY-DvfTDRIDRTqMG_IyttRqSDDTdKMdJxnCptYIwcHt8MLbIwhN8ljtIm5UYXI/s800/DSC_2908.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starters</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-Msa5LzrX-VXOPiZdRMHdyvUtqu_nMirIGt8bxmLEHc2l2FAj4ztZUy3g571fqWnE0_loHcIGMAag5VBLCdFlAwBTbDTaOLCrpWxxjtjrUzeWo5uvFE5GMz7TupAHj-lKy8drqIvrYk/s800/DSC_2910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-Msa5LzrX-VXOPiZdRMHdyvUtqu_nMirIGt8bxmLEHc2l2FAj4ztZUy3g571fqWnE0_loHcIGMAag5VBLCdFlAwBTbDTaOLCrpWxxjtjrUzeWo5uvFE5GMz7TupAHj-lKy8drqIvrYk/s800/DSC_2910.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner entree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8eoTqWatcB_keihQ4FGHlQrHbqIyDcb7dEZzp3pTeK9WxIctoZ6foi3yqWE65d1y-H6UUSoGbdbzAdhCMcEHDI9NFyEaSZhwTSTBIPXn-rJO5d8fo_cGi3iTMXn8YySGB1ay7MKO2Ns/s800/DSC_2914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8eoTqWatcB_keihQ4FGHlQrHbqIyDcb7dEZzp3pTeK9WxIctoZ6foi3yqWE65d1y-H6UUSoGbdbzAdhCMcEHDI9NFyEaSZhwTSTBIPXn-rJO5d8fo_cGi3iTMXn8YySGB1ay7MKO2Ns/s800/DSC_2914.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dessert</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The captain apologized for the delay, trying to appease my jitters by saying "we'll try to make up for it" once airborne. Because it was almost midnight by the time we reached cruising altitude, flight attendants immediately sprang into action handing out dinner. Dinner menu was pointed out to me for perusal. Boy was I hungry! Out of the three entree choices, I had the beef which was executed nicely. It paired well with a <i>Santa Helena Vernus Cabernet Sauvignon</i> <i>2009</i>.<br />
<br />
Two hours into this 8-hour flight, the effects of Pisco sour and red wine got into me. Just before going to bed, the flight attendant asked if I prefer a full brekkie or an "express" cold breakfast. I chose the latter since I wanted to sleep longer. About 45 minutes before descent to Santiago, I awoke to find cabin lights on. One of the flight attendants handed me shortly my first food above Chile: a muffin and glass of OJ.<br />
<br />
As the captain promised, we made up for lost time by arriving only 5 minutes late. And that's despite the heavy fog all over Santiago! I was one among the first passengers to get off the plane, making a mad dash for immigration. There was no need for me to pay reciprocity fee since I still had the receipt from 2010 attached to my passport (valid until it expires).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrKFZ1JvRqoRFtoMmqwmdLJ8KEYgO2JLsLVsuubxpOwLCxIOBMKuJBFLqvor9-hH7EkiPIa4UD9FMHggavO98zH_2DKZ-KhXu_tE3gU94mZyBaGYgg1e_poAT8SJPHzgvnyIn199x5Qg/s800/DSC_2927.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwrKFZ1JvRqoRFtoMmqwmdLJ8KEYgO2JLsLVsuubxpOwLCxIOBMKuJBFLqvor9-hH7EkiPIa4UD9FMHggavO98zH_2DKZ-KhXu_tE3gU94mZyBaGYgg1e_poAT8SJPHzgvnyIn199x5Qg/s800/DSC_2927.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Andes on the climb out of Santiago</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNJiFlnldzHYs7LuZZclEi5zX13EcxTY6wuH-ernTPg1IoxM9MEl0pZbYTvjMOrq4U2E2d-5e8UaKQ2TERoX82lESRudY-7ASkYQfAAyNQIWVCVj5iyFjcb1qyRCMTKMgx36CeE_pKVc/s800/DSC_2932.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNJiFlnldzHYs7LuZZclEi5zX13EcxTY6wuH-ernTPg1IoxM9MEl0pZbYTvjMOrq4U2E2d-5e8UaKQ2TERoX82lESRudY-7ASkYQfAAyNQIWVCVj5iyFjcb1qyRCMTKMgx36CeE_pKVc/s800/DSC_2932.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First glimpse of Easter Island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A Lan Chile representative met me at the immigration line, trying to herd all Easter Island-bound passengers. It turns out there were actually 8 of us. <i>"You only have 15 minutes before boarding"</i>, he said with a voice of concern. As the Chilean immigration officer was processing my entry, he stood next to me while talking to the officer in Spanish. He then went on to the others.<br />
<br />
With my carry-on, I <strike>walked</strike> ran to the domestic side of this vast terminal as Easter Island is considered a domestic destination. The Lan Chile rep caught up with me running, probably making sure I was headed in the right direction.<i> "You really like Chile to come here again huh!", </i>he said while catching his breath<i>.</i> That's when I told him about this incredible airfare 8 of us on this flight took advantage of. His eyes widened with disbelief. <i>"Buen viaje!"</i>, he finally bid me farewell as he showed me the gate.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNd0DIce8QnfWgSCzG1zneyd3ipI89_AITy81y8KIYPX6OvoAvATdQh6Hkv615qdzG7QUMotUpOykfNwFWB9FkRvscGJlMuSXT84wFT-6jwYr_o4l0Sk3yIarP400B5apAH0VSFYf8c4/s800/DSC_3712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNd0DIce8QnfWgSCzG1zneyd3ipI89_AITy81y8KIYPX6OvoAvATdQh6Hkv615qdzG7QUMotUpOykfNwFWB9FkRvscGJlMuSXT84wFT-6jwYr_o4l0Sk3yIarP400B5apAH0VSFYf8c4/s800/DSC_3712.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A<i> moai</i> replica at Mataveri International Airport on Easter Island </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4xP4ucP-hfbKtSlDLN8H2B-90lr70j1w2n9idFvXHEe-b5ckhVdQpmxEDHv3ilDSvoXjlNtQMHetLCJPfPfQVxRcVUOU_R8f301_UimJpD6v00cy5U58fpFOByrv-sGlmkyeYzDAurwY/s800/DSC_3703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4xP4ucP-hfbKtSlDLN8H2B-90lr70j1w2n9idFvXHEe-b5ckhVdQpmxEDHv3ilDSvoXjlNtQMHetLCJPfPfQVxRcVUOU_R8f301_UimJpD6v00cy5U58fpFOByrv-sGlmkyeYzDAurwY/s800/DSC_3703.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inside Mataveri International Airport</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iuXEUJEdDH0wSPES-S2_i0psFnr8wwV5rdUoh6E4YSXtxv7RhVHflWQifUGWkSWGcrwC7fkHf6LeGzXcwgAjSHu7nevWF9PDDkZ2gOYq28GdgnyLkOqHiixw662aOS_E2JKhPfwCBm8/s800/DSC_2937.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iuXEUJEdDH0wSPES-S2_i0psFnr8wwV5rdUoh6E4YSXtxv7RhVHflWQifUGWkSWGcrwC7fkHf6LeGzXcwgAjSHu7nevWF9PDDkZ2gOYq28GdgnyLkOqHiixw662aOS_E2JKhPfwCBm8/s800/DSC_2937.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Polynesian welcome with lei at the world's most remote airport</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was almost 8 AM and a large queue has formed at the boarding gate. Departure was actually delayed due to lingering fog in the area! So much for the hassle of running. Half an hour later, we were finally allowed to board. Another B767 was bringing me to Easter Island. Seating arrangement was exactly the same as the flight from Miami. Even the in-flight service was essentially a repeat performance.<br />
<br />
Full breakfast was served on-board this 5 hour flight to Easter Island. Having not enjoyed the in-flight movies on the way to Santiago, I turned my attention to the 15-inch personal TV in front of me. There were plenty of movies from latest releases to classics but one that really piqued my curiosity was <i>"Amour"</i>. I haven't seen <i>"Life of Pi"</i> so I watched it too.<br />
<br />
Five hours later as the plane was descending, I gazed down at this island so isolated from the motherland. Chile is more than 2000 miles away. No wonder it looks so lonely, like a dot in the vast Pacific Ocean. Easter Island is by far the most remote destination I have ever been to. And of course, <b>Mataveri International Airport</b> is considered the world's most remote airport.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_3996E5uv42xyWeBTOaZMouo02hIOtxrzZigJrE9lwpnxh3YYdNAnBbeqW5Zj-c2dieAoTMgxCareQMhkMUDPvNxPsHLZKCJLSK-7Qq68mKhvriAYS10aVjXZXDLJn7RClaL0p-F21A/s800/DSC_2941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_3996E5uv42xyWeBTOaZMouo02hIOtxrzZigJrE9lwpnxh3YYdNAnBbeqW5Zj-c2dieAoTMgxCareQMhkMUDPvNxPsHLZKCJLSK-7Qq68mKhvriAYS10aVjXZXDLJn7RClaL0p-F21A/s800/DSC_2941.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My room at Hostal Petero Atamu</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvviNIha1b5wb1JmLVqbOR2Vh1_WKst6lDa3JEEGddBtaWhIZ9bTkzMTPxi4j_y-aGSpj-u5-5Zq9uXikHZhKVRlaP2GWRylIEAr-5eYkYww5239n267mmUaJOlgChU6KQKGo3E4WoG_4/s800/DSC_3696.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvviNIha1b5wb1JmLVqbOR2Vh1_WKst6lDa3JEEGddBtaWhIZ9bTkzMTPxi4j_y-aGSpj-u5-5Zq9uXikHZhKVRlaP2GWRylIEAr-5eYkYww5239n267mmUaJOlgChU6KQKGo3E4WoG_4/s800/DSC_3696.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lory (hostel owner), daughter & family dog</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Empanada lunch</td></tr>
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At the airport terminal, nothing more than a single story building, I was met by Lory Pakarati, owner of<a href="http://www.hostalpeteroatamu.com/eng_hostal.html"> <b>Hostal Petero Atamu</b> </a>where I'd be staying. A garland was placed on my neck as a gesture of welcome. Complimentary airport pick-up for guests seem to be the norm on Easter Island. On the car were three others: a Brazilian couple and a Japanese girl. Since the airport is right next to town, it didn't take more than 10 minutes to get to the hostel.<br />
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While the hostel can be booked via third party sites (i.e hostelworld.com), I booked directly a week prior. Lory - a Rapanui with limited English - promptly answered questions and quoted me 22,000 Chilean pesos per night in a single room with ensuite bathroom. Besides the free airport transfers, there's free breakfast, daily maid service and a rather spotty WiFi. <br />
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Considering its distance from anywhere, Easter Island do tend to cost more - be that accommodations, food or activities. Most of what the islanders need have to be shipped or airlifted from the mainland. No wonder my seatmate on the flight, a Rapanui himself, was bringing a box of Dunkin Donuts for his daughters. It's past 1 PM as I venture out into the town's main street, just a short five minute walk from the hostel. Hungry, I had tuna <i>empanada</i> for about 5 USD.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local cemetery </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rapanui teenagers playing football near Ahu Tahai</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOYwhyphenhyphenPQKN2BzwL6dDfaEruHjE9RHgJMeBOGyuJ_9EIPyhoZA1Sw1mNpMhyQBYNSnRVl1O0c6_jgaspQFCk3e2Ta3OOjU1RxP9RXMwXOd2xSpxBZBRrS2__OJrHqbg97DgoMjYAJNmaE/s800/DSC_2992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnOYwhyphenhyphenPQKN2BzwL6dDfaEruHjE9RHgJMeBOGyuJ_9EIPyhoZA1Sw1mNpMhyQBYNSnRVl1O0c6_jgaspQFCk3e2Ta3OOjU1RxP9RXMwXOd2xSpxBZBRrS2__OJrHqbg97DgoMjYAJNmaE/s800/DSC_2992.JPG" width="800" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thumbs up for our first <i>moai</i>s: Ahu Vai Uri (left) and Ahu Ko Te Riku (right: the only moai with eyes replicated from original)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahu Vai Uri </td></tr>
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Back at the hostel, I was about to take a <i>siesta</i> when I bumped into the same Japanese girl from the airport. Her name's Namie, visiting from Osaka. She hardly speaks English let alone Spanish yet she's bravely traveling on her own for the next 3 months in South America. At least we understood well on one thing: seeing our first <i>moai</i> at <b>Ahu Tahai</b> during sunset.<br />
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Visitors go all the way to Easter Island mainly to view the<i> moais</i> scattered around this 63-square mile island. <i>Moais</i> are monolithic statues built by ancient Rapanui people long
before a Dutch explorer in 1722 stumbled on its shore on Easter
Sunday (hence the island's current name). Fortunately, the hostel is only a 10-minute walk to the three restored ceremonial platforms at Ahu Tahai.<br />
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Namie & I walked past the local cemetery and into Ahu Tahai. It's a favorite spot at this hour as more and more people came and took their spots on a grass field overlooking the platforms and the sea behind them. As the sun slowly inched its way down the horizon, we sat transfixed with the view. Centuries ago, the Rapanui built them based on ancestor worship, believing that <i>mana</i> or spiritual power can be granted from someone important who died. Just by looking at their silhouettes now, I'd like to believe so. It's a sublime view really. Worth the long flight.</div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-17097458623402180362013-05-25T22:06:00.001-04:002013-07-24T21:37:15.905-04:00Mileage Run To Easter Island<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"What's going on in Easter Island?"</i>, asked a cheerful American Airlines agent as I checked-in for my afternoon flight at New York's JFK airport. <i>"You're the fifth passenger going there I've seen today".</i><br />
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Now I've got some explaining to do.<br />
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Back in February, the online frequent flier community <a href="http://www.flyertalk.com/">Flyertalk</a> was abuzz with what everyone thought was a mistake fare. American Airlines was selling business class tickets from New York to Easter Island for less than $1,100 - way cheaper than coach which normally sells for more than $2,500. Business class cost somewhere in the region of $6,000-$8,000.<br />
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It turns out the price wasn't even a mistake fare, just an incredible stroke of an airfare deal luck. There I was staring at the computer screen, giddy with excitement. For something so good as this one, which is very rare, I faced the dilemma of making a quick decision. One moment it's there, the next moment it's gone.<br />
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So I jumped on it. Never mind if I haven't even got a clue if I could get days off from work. Remembering that I have an unused $100 American Airlines gift card, I applied it to the fare which brought the price further down to $950! Two days later, when a friend of mine tried to book the same flight, it was all gone.<br />
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What excites me about this trip -<b> besides flying into one of the world´s most remote islands</b> (and therefore quite a remote airport at that) - <b>is my first foray into mileage running</b>. No, this has nothing to do with putting on my sneakers and making a run somewhere. As Wikipedia puts it:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"A mileage run is an airline trip designed and taken solely to gain maximum frequent-flyer miles, points, or status.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-usatoday_16-0" jquery183023857088641484164="67"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frequent-flyer_program#cite_note-usatoday-16"><span style="color: #0645ad;">[16]</span></a></sup> If a traveler has already achieved some sort of elite status, then that traveler will earn bonus award miles on top of his or her actual flight miles. Depending on the program, that traveler will reach its goal sooner if the miles he or she accrue are elite qualifying miles.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-usatoday_16-1" jquery183023857088641484164="70"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frequent-flyer_program#cite_note-usatoday-16"><span style="color: #0645ad;">[16]</span></a></sup> A mileage run may allow a traveler to (re-)qualify for a beneficial elite level, which requires a minimum number of miles to qualify.<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-17" jquery183023857088641484164="73"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frequent-flyer_program#cite_note-17"><span style="color: #0645ad;">[17]</span></a></sup> The value of a mileage run is frequently computed in cents per mile (CPM) where the total price of the ticket is divided by the total number of base miles accrued."</i></blockquote>
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Most mileage runners book cheap flights and do a quick turn around at the destination airport. Often this involves same day and just within a few hours after arrival. Quite a punishing trip indeed especially since these are intercontinental if not long international flights. In my case, I decided to make a longer trip out of it, staying five days in Easter Island and three days in Santiago, Chile.<br />
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As an AAdvantage member, I look forward to generating elite qualifying miles on this trip and earn benefits later. The flights involve <b>American Airlines</b> from New York to Miami, connecting to <b><span class="st"><i>oneworld</i>®</span></b> <i></i>partner <b>Lan Chile</b> to Santiago before changing to another Lan Chile flight bound for Hanga Roa in Easter Island. All flights are on Boeing 767.<br />
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Flying time? Per segment, it's more than two hours to Miami, eight hours to Santiago, five hours to Easter Island. That should give me plenty of time to sleep on Lan Chile's flat bed seats. And hopefully meet those other four passengers. Let the fun times roll. </div>
The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-18727053938084755982013-05-18T08:11:00.000-04:002013-06-07T21:31:01.307-04:00Puerto Rico: Beach & Forest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isla Verde is a surfer's playground</td></tr>
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Like any other closed-looped cruise, our trip on Carnival Valor ended where it began eight days back. We're in <b>Puerto Rico</b> again. So a week of pampering wasn't bad at all. Or at least in my case after letting travel take care of me and not the other way around. I knew cruising isn't for everyone much as backpacking isn't for everyone either.<br />
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While I'm accustomed to roughing it up whilst traveling, this high seas experience allowed me to see another side of the travel industry. Many people plan trips to get away from stress hence the need for some protective bubble. Which of course I truly respect. Even my parents knew well what kind of travel they want. So we gave them that.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carnival Valor docked in San Juan</td></tr>
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Our last night aboard Carnival Valor was spent packing our stuff. Announcements were made about what to do during debarkation day. We were told to leave our bags outside our stateroom; by midnight some crew members already took them away and we won't see our bags till the next day. <br />
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Tired after a long day in <b>Sint Maarten</b> - our last port of call - and tired after all that packing, I fell asleep quickly. Carnival Valor sailed silently back into <b>San Juan</b> in pre-dawn darkness. Puerto Rico isn't too far from Sint Maarten<b> </b>so the captain basically had the ship sail slowly in a holding pattern all night.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Tree Trail at El Yunque National Forest</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yukahu Tower view</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakO0pwv-L3VAtJK72KVGOaKNb3jE3OfJlAvJAx2bCklx5v8Dc4ITQSo-xq294sHHzPWMwqjOv4mcLlcC-DqnALOW0ox_e7LwD6oK3yRbwXinLmYN31H8Xt5njG_ECO2gZSKfCWeL1IDE/s800/DSC_1820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakO0pwv-L3VAtJK72KVGOaKNb3jE3OfJlAvJAx2bCklx5v8Dc4ITQSo-xq294sHHzPWMwqjOv4mcLlcC-DqnALOW0ox_e7LwD6oK3yRbwXinLmYN31H8Xt5njG_ECO2gZSKfCWeL1IDE/s800/DSC_1820.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yukahu Tower view</td></tr>
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Even with more than 3000 passengers leaving the ship, it was a relief to find the smooth process involved. All passengers were assigned a group number. Up on <b>Lido Deck</b> we took our last breakfast and waited there until it was our turn to go down the gangway. In no time we got reunited with our bags. Unfortunately, there was this massive queue going through customs, taking us almost an hour before we finally made it out of the pier.<br />
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San Juan embraced us back warmly. The weather was great, the locals were smiling. We walked the short distance from the pier to where we picked up our Hertz car rental. Driving to the hotel was effortless on a Sunday mid-morning. However, our rooms at the <b>Courtyard by Marriott Isla Verde</b> were not yet ready.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_38Yak6ABPneaLOUgEZEZw2MwLWfCYB5p9qw5RAR7ecXHAdngYhTjGO2U920UGiD_gUSd7cd2fs1YDqpWYrjenOMfbgAS8Q1SgluX3Ks7rBby6WBYY1RNHnm3eGubBic16-mVHLTX8Kw/s800/DSC_1845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_38Yak6ABPneaLOUgEZEZw2MwLWfCYB5p9qw5RAR7ecXHAdngYhTjGO2U920UGiD_gUSd7cd2fs1YDqpWYrjenOMfbgAS8Q1SgluX3Ks7rBby6WBYY1RNHnm3eGubBic16-mVHLTX8Kw/s800/DSC_1845.JPG" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Big Tree Trail</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2r5YA-ss225TyQnwbIOoceZFb-scuvROfY4Gi9M5Y4mW5dOy1SAR6JZpwcyyezfj8uoYKtb_GZk4WnvCSwPA5LMNyFkkGnDzIns6lyC6vvfA0VyAR-udVy4t1EiMjk6xIQdNEdzDbHg/s800/DSC_1862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2r5YA-ss225TyQnwbIOoceZFb-scuvROfY4Gi9M5Y4mW5dOy1SAR6JZpwcyyezfj8uoYKtb_GZk4WnvCSwPA5LMNyFkkGnDzIns6lyC6vvfA0VyAR-udVy4t1EiMjk6xIQdNEdzDbHg/s800/DSC_1862.JPG" width="470" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Mina Falls</td></tr>
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No worries, we had Plan B. We hit the road again, this time heading about 50 kms east towards<b> El Yunque National Forest</b>. My sister's GPS worked like magic, guiding our way to this green oasis up on the <i>Sierra de Luquillo</i>. Despite its relative small size (28,000 acres), it remains a popular destination given that it is the only tropical forest in the US National Forest System. <br />
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Outdoor lovers won't be bored. There are plenty of hiking trails. And there's no entrance fee to the park! Since I was dying to walk, I managed to convince my parents and my sister to try one easier path called <b>Big Tree Trail</b>. This is an asphalt-paved self-interpretative trail snaking for 0.8 mile or about 45 minutes down into<b> La Mina Falls</b>. Not exactly my ideal trail but with loved ones in tow I'm a happy camper.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRx6goImWZt4dedGu6iQ7W2e5XdDLt5aRvDdLSbArCnk4EGTVzDp61AI-KWrsRVJ7jgxWjRvOwAZ7VCzct0YUoRUWlKNgzkokIahwei6F2d2TRsO6ti1FlA1Ha0el1PDk4rru9N0rvY4/s800/DSC_2007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmRx6goImWZt4dedGu6iQ7W2e5XdDLt5aRvDdLSbArCnk4EGTVzDp61AI-KWrsRVJ7jgxWjRvOwAZ7VCzct0YUoRUWlKNgzkokIahwei6F2d2TRsO6ti1FlA1Ha0el1PDk4rru9N0rvY4/s800/DSC_2007.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtyard by Marriott Isla Verde</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtyard by Marriott Isla Verde</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-n-hnJIimQo9a7mxTAoSHSHt2aXk4oYsr2RriGWaSSvYyxbg8YQlZUCPG0I_FDN11x7hhMmEas0Po1hOU5GT5HH0nVQUIRL1NEwChnHKilwVpW_kAdi7vubFuirU8l-noj1HX3cxWW0/s800/DSC_1969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-n-hnJIimQo9a7mxTAoSHSHt2aXk4oYsr2RriGWaSSvYyxbg8YQlZUCPG0I_FDN11x7hhMmEas0Po1hOU5GT5HH0nVQUIRL1NEwChnHKilwVpW_kAdi7vubFuirU8l-noj1HX3cxWW0/s800/DSC_1969.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach view from hotel room</td></tr>
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Many hikers end up taking a dip beneath the falls but I wasn't keen on cold-water therapy. Besides, there were many others down there, mostly locals enjoying a weekend off. So we walked up the same path leading to where we started at the car park. Before heading back to San Juan, we stopped by at the <b>Yokahu Tower</b> offering great views beyond the forest canopy.<br />
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An hour later, we were back at the hotel and was gladly given our room keys. While this beachfront Marriott property looks like a 1970s building from outside, the rooms at least looked like they had a fresh makeover. We went out to explore the beach and find the water too rough for swimming. There were actually more surfers hitting the waves.<br />
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We lay on the beach loungers, gazing intently at a restless Carribbean sea. The view was like an instant replay of all the past week: there was the sea right in front and behind us was this building that might as well be a cruise ship. If my parents are dreaming of another cruise somewhere, I'm afraid I might be cajoled one more time.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-76761103773828579792013-05-11T00:00:00.002-04:002013-06-07T21:31:36.210-04:00Sint Maarten/St.Martin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>"Two countries in one small island"</i>. No wonder it's got two names: <b>St. Martin/ Sint Maarten.</b> I smiled listening to the car rental guy proudly showing us a map and highlighting our planned route with a marker. We were at his office right off the pier where our ship docked. After taking locally guided tours in St. Thomas, Barbados, St. Lucia and St. Kitts, we've decided on renting a car to explore this 87-square kilometer island.<br />
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For more than 300 years, the island has been shared by both the <b>Netherlands</b> and <b>France</b>. It was a tough tug-of-war between the two even long before that. While they're such intimate neighbors now, one could go between the two with out even going through immigration. Or having passports stamped. One could even easily miss the border if not particularly paying attention for it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhjMcRfLHrBv9ZEPXp-OUoDmuDLcI55C8_LDj2ZQSMa-XhYeA1zIwZGpWW3DgO8LbWumcDDEg6WAGFGuCSps_jydwIh9sAQNJ66PtxNOEJaXYBp0d0150_wZsSMnOE_awe837S8lZEPw/s800/DSC_1730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRhjMcRfLHrBv9ZEPXp-OUoDmuDLcI55C8_LDj2ZQSMa-XhYeA1zIwZGpWW3DgO8LbWumcDDEg6WAGFGuCSps_jydwIh9sAQNJ66PtxNOEJaXYBp0d0150_wZsSMnOE_awe837S8lZEPw/s800/DSC_1730.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iguana is part of the island's native fauna</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhufXJnEf-fyBnkecEdk5tqLMVARC6nAxWJbaSl2PQJ5D2l0ZzqM_8csewkV__kku55Lg_HbMnW2pXx0372cZMFF9sEKA8Slq62Ud9E58dSap-JCnzt7mKD3t5s4qyZBN_Xyo8bxoVa4/s700/DSC_1474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhufXJnEf-fyBnkecEdk5tqLMVARC6nAxWJbaSl2PQJ5D2l0ZzqM_8csewkV__kku55Lg_HbMnW2pXx0372cZMFF9sEKA8Slq62Ud9E58dSap-JCnzt7mKD3t5s4qyZBN_Xyo8bxoVa4/s800/DSC_1474.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the border marker</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktqFPdeQpYijJwDcjvf398yb05Ddwn7qgsqqCUJ7V7X52J1_rcIWD8gZDmjLXcnT4O555bqXgPs1yLHwH0q8DGDuisAAiEcfrbqWJV9ICFSVAGa_lnLilbyX3R3TjnZRVWhcW3VP3o80/s700/DSC_1478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktqFPdeQpYijJwDcjvf398yb05Ddwn7qgsqqCUJ7V7X52J1_rcIWD8gZDmjLXcnT4O555bqXgPs1yLHwH0q8DGDuisAAiEcfrbqWJV9ICFSVAGa_lnLilbyX3R3TjnZRVWhcW3VP3o80/s800/DSC_1478.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orient Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friar's Bay Beach</td></tr>
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Despite being ruled by two different countries, they still exude their own distinct culture. On the smaller Dutch side, officially called <b>Sint Maarten</b>, life is all about being on a party-mood while extolling Holland's flair for informality. There's a lot of development - especially around the capital of <b>Philipsburg</b> - most notable of which are numerous hotels, casinos and strip malls. This is where our ship docked.<br />
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On the other side, officially called <b>St. Martin</b>, it's less raucous and more about quiet refinement. The numerous beaches lay waiting for those who seek them - whether to bare some or bare all, who cares. In the main town of <b>Marigot</b>, there are boutiques selling French designer goods and restaurants showcasing the best of French cuisine. .<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78CbdY92i975YEnzOs1S5TTmg5iVbqNo4MF7tQuhZeTZCd-C2S9mPIaeYPDlNDVKvUbTtLRWK-ImLNjrxeZU8gcN1PenvKhhusXJinhnuYlKW7HfeOl_zysB7HjMlWwK-jknvJxuAR1s/s800/DSC_1517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78CbdY92i975YEnzOs1S5TTmg5iVbqNo4MF7tQuhZeTZCd-C2S9mPIaeYPDlNDVKvUbTtLRWK-ImLNjrxeZU8gcN1PenvKhhusXJinhnuYlKW7HfeOl_zysB7HjMlWwK-jknvJxuAR1s/s800/DSC_1517.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marigot</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4I3CUBiy0pqWe7fBnXHDCgCm_1-7apV6oLZZhlH_EVeMllvIr9WC4l2AzI4P85GA552UU5zoC6yTfEdf-h_Ix0xAdRbtHucdcjcd_GCJCWeIDP7r9N8rKZHwrVXBzKrySGtpusXmXi8/s700/DSC_1521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4I3CUBiy0pqWe7fBnXHDCgCm_1-7apV6oLZZhlH_EVeMllvIr9WC4l2AzI4P85GA552UU5zoC6yTfEdf-h_Ix0xAdRbtHucdcjcd_GCJCWeIDP7r9N8rKZHwrVXBzKrySGtpusXmXi8/s800/DSC_1521.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marigot Market</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSX24RQ7l8FZuaIolMqIfpR8gmu8jmnayp7ce4K3pLX1QUcG-R7MLlsrvbtjhCNrv1W8Y6Tx13ymw1dzFfX-5X-crkT-JnEsqR97l3zAkCupVIV7sQcge11PFiwEE-5c9JR-tduJRxx5Q/s800/DSC_1544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSX24RQ7l8FZuaIolMqIfpR8gmu8jmnayp7ce4K3pLX1QUcG-R7MLlsrvbtjhCNrv1W8Y6Tx13ymw1dzFfX-5X-crkT-JnEsqR97l3zAkCupVIV7sQcge11PFiwEE-5c9JR-tduJRxx5Q/s800/DSC_1544.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cupecoy Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5_GAokhNFf8Wiga8nPL7G2pys7awTPEpXFQmOziGh4epwl5o1b0wBsV0Dt5K08WC3pHZBSZzZOi1DgGpOgENYRpL4wZBgBXjzTnQcDqLnngU1kf3q4NiKq3dpm5FrZicm-uP4ycKXsQ/s700/DSC_1732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT5_GAokhNFf8Wiga8nPL7G2pys7awTPEpXFQmOziGh4epwl5o1b0wBsV0Dt5K08WC3pHZBSZzZOi1DgGpOgENYRpL4wZBgBXjzTnQcDqLnngU1kf3q4NiKq3dpm5FrZicm-uP4ycKXsQ/s800/DSC_1732.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great Bay Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNCX_sjYpbfPXQerQ8PeKMpksR8fyqQghFUeJxgVPbqegZuqbBqnJH2fMzsoCWJLb728-JRTXhZAkkX6anFd3OpQ8E6k5NZ-0Njl9P-0-t3gF6hwE9y6S5aaOTL9BQnw9z__rOnxAbC4/s800/DSC_1742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNCX_sjYpbfPXQerQ8PeKMpksR8fyqQghFUeJxgVPbqegZuqbBqnJH2fMzsoCWJLb728-JRTXhZAkkX6anFd3OpQ8E6k5NZ-0Njl9P-0-t3gF6hwE9y6S5aaOTL9BQnw9z__rOnxAbC4/s800/DSC_1742.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Philipsburg</td></tr>
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A $40 compact Hyundai was just perfect fit for the four of us. We got into the car, happy at the thought that we're actually covering two territories in 10 hours. Our plan was to basically follow the ring road counterclockwise and hit as many beaches and points of interests as we can manage. To make road navigation even easier, our rental came equipped with a GPS. <br />
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<i>"Whatever you do, don't forget to stop by Maho Beach"</i>, the car rental guy reminded us. Now I'm really giving him a knowing smile.<br />
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<i>"Of course not"</i>, I quipped. As an aviation nut, I've been excited watching YouTube videos of airplanes landing and barely grazing above people's heads on <b>Maho Beach</b>. How cool is that? Truly one thrilling experience which dictated the planning stage of this Caribbean cruise. In other words, a personal highlight of the trip for me.<br />
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Jetblue A320 on approach to SXM runway just next to Maho Beach</div>
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There I was gleefully watching planes after planes landing and taking off. Never has the underside of a plane been so exposed to me even if fleeting. Mostly Airbus A320s and Boeing 757s (Unfortunately, the B747 I was hoping for didn't arrive). It was so captivating I forgot my plan to swim or barely ate a late lunch of French baguette & roasted chicken. The roar of jet engine and the blast of air was an intoxicating brew of thrill and danger.<br />
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But what an irony, I came here by boat and what got me excited like a kid in a toy store was a plane.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-77362503060112898132013-05-05T23:48:00.000-04:002013-06-07T21:32:19.825-04:00St. Kitts<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Even though I was well aware of our Southern Caribbean itinerary, <b>St. Kitts</b> was one port-of-call I had no general knowledge about. It's like a blank page in my travel journal. No surprise here, the island is considered somewhat off the beaten track for most sun-seekers. Which actually sounds like a good thing. Our 10-hour visit to St. Kitts eventually opened my eyes to beautiful sights.<br />
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Back in 1493, Christopher Columbus claimed this volcanic island for Spain. It was originally called <b>St. Christopher</b>, sparking a debate whether the island was named after the explorer himself or after the known patron saint of travelers. Like any other Caribbean island, it was exploited by a succession of colonizers - from Spanish to French to British. English sailors later got their say on the island's current cute name.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Independence Square</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church of the Immaculate Conception interior</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">downtown Basseterre architecture</td></tr>
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It was on this historical backdrop that our locally-booked <a href="http://www.stkittsislandparadisetours.com/index_new.cfm">Island Paradise Tours</a> began as soon as our van left <b>Port Zante</b> pier in the capital city of<b> Basseterre</b>. Using a wireless microphone while driving, Rosevelt Taylor (guide/driver/owner), kept our group of 10 people revved up with his tidbits of history and trivia, even discussing the various flora and fauna in this ecologically-rich island.<br />
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Just 3 kms away is the more-sedate smaller island of <b>Nevis</b>. Together, this dual-island nation is officially called <b>The Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis</b>. Despite being independent from British rule since 1983, it still considers Queen Elizabeth II as its head of state given its status as a Commonwealth realm. So as it is, among the many British-<i>isms </i>still prevalent, driving on the left side of the road is the rule.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A local woman passes by one of the windowed basements (with mesh wire)<br />
which used to house African slaves for sale to colonizers</td></tr>
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We drove along Basseterre's narrow streets,<b> </b>past its historic center filled with old-time Caribbean architecture. Underneath these buildings, Rosevelt pointed at the basements which used to house slaves brought in from Africa. Colonizers in 17th century saw the need for slave labor as sugarcane plantations sprang all over the island. While slavery was eventually abolished by the Brits in 1834, plantations continued to operate until 2005 when they closed down due to unprofitability.<br />
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Giving a nod to the glory days of plantation life was our visit to <b>Romney Manor,</b> so named after a 17th century English Earl and once originally owned by Thomas Jefferson's ancestor. The original structure is now home to <b>Caribelle Batik</b> which as the name implies, especializes in the not-so-original Indonesian style of hand-printing. While the grounds are lush with flowers, plants and one enormous old tree, I found the ridiculously expensive <i>batik</i> on sale incongruous to the overall experience (my mom & sister meanwhile proudly wore their PHP 250 <i>batik sarong</i> from the Philippines which other women visitors asked about).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxIv8Jc0aMdWF5zpAeFCTdPzXNi0a5ksdxdsXYPCOwg7IQsFJmScogzHlORglaIMAQD_yP7o2BDJvd1a-hOjw_TYmtWeCvNngAh40aiw3hFy6Tyn_DXDa1L7MJnqEyK0t28UbZFCBodU/s700/DSC_1195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxIv8Jc0aMdWF5zpAeFCTdPzXNi0a5ksdxdsXYPCOwg7IQsFJmScogzHlORglaIMAQD_yP7o2BDJvd1a-hOjw_TYmtWeCvNngAh40aiw3hFy6Tyn_DXDa1L7MJnqEyK0t28UbZFCBodU/s1000/DSC_1195.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Romney Manor - home of Caribelle Batik</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Batik</i>-making thousands of miles away from Indonesia</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brimstone Hill Fortress</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brimstone Hill Fortress</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brimstone Hill Fortress</td></tr>
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Up on a hill we drove to see the UNESCO World Heritage site of <b>Brimstone Hill Fortress</b>. Designed by British military engineers and built by African slave labor, the fortress was intermittently built between 1690 and 1790 with the aim of dispelling French attacks. Its fortified location is so well placed it was called the "Gibraltar of the West Indies". We walked around this complex of bastions and barracks, awed by its immensity, wowed by its surrounding beauty. From a distance we could see the isles of St. Eustasius and Saba.<br />
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As if the views up there weren't wonderful enough, Rosevelt drove us towards <b>Timothy Hill</b>. On an overlook, we had a commanding view of the southeastern section of the island, including that of neighboring Nevis. This was the part of St. Kitts at its narrowest - we could see the rough seas of the Atlantic coast on the left side and the calm waters of the Caribbean on the right side. It's obviously not difficult choosing which side of the coastline where we want to spend the rest of the day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothy Hill viewpoint</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beach scene</td></tr>
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Down on South Friar's Bay, Rosevelt brought us to the privately-owned <b>Carambola Beach Club</b>. There were other guests from Carnival Valor (we could always tell from the towels alone) and the other megaship docked that day. In other words, forget about seclusion. The water was calm and warm and best of all, instead of renting expensive beach umbrellas and loungers, we found a perfect spot shaded by palm trees. A mat I bought kept us in a picnic mode. With little else to do besides swimming, I decided to read my book. At this point I felt all I want sometimes in travel is just to . . . relax.<br />
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Three hours later, we met up with Rosevelt and the six others in our group. We made it back to the pier with still enough time to browse some gift shops and add something to my fridge magnet collection. St. Kitts may have sounded so unfamiliar to me before this trip but our 10-hour stay was a pleasant scratch in the surface of this 69 square-mile island. I hope to dig up a bit deeper someday.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1611917613633668467.post-85291301934571020382013-04-27T09:59:00.001-04:002013-05-12T08:44:27.106-04:00St. Lucia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Another early morning and we're on to our next island. So invigorated I am as I peeled myself away from bed after sleeping 8 hours straight. The gentle rocking and rolling of a megaship like Carnival Valor was worth all the melatonins I've taken to relieve jet lag. Now I'm ready to see <b>St. Lucia</b>, our next port of call, for a whole day.<br />
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What's amazing to see so early in the morning was how the big boat slowly made its way past a very narrow inlet before making a full 360 degree-turn to dock at <b>La Place Carenage</b> - one of the two cruise piers in the hilly island nation's capital in <b>Castries</b>. It must have taken a great deal of hand-eye coordination to maneuver a behemoth to a precise movement. Bravo to the captain!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While a pilot boat stays close by, another megaship further away awaits its turn to dock in Castries</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pier as seen from Morne Fortune Overlook</td></tr>
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Up on Lido Deck, the breakfast buffet was swarmed with cruisers fueling themselves up. My mother even thought of brown-bagging some fruits and pastries just in case one of us go hungry between 8 AM and 5 PM - or those nine hours we will spend on the island. Had to remind her not to worry, our "Land and Sea Tour" booked locally with <a href="http://spencerambrose.com/island-tours/spencers-land-and-sea-adventure1/">Spencer Ambrose</a> promised food and drinks along with sightseeing.<br />
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After wading through a gauntlet of shops and drivers/guides waiting for their guests, we found Frances, the driver who was holding just the signage I was expecting. A trio of other guests showed up but some others apparently didn't make it on time (despite a 20-minute grace period) so we all left on a van and drove into the early morning traffic of downtown Castries.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Basilica of the Immaculate Conception</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Derek Walcott Square</td></tr>
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<i>"Don't be surprised to find English and French names all over the island"</i>, Frances said after parking the van next to <b>Derek Walcott Square</b>. Just like many of its Caribbean neighbors, St. Lucia has had its share of warring colonizers, in this case the British and the French who both played a costly tug-of-war 14 times - all because of this 622 square km island paradise.<br />
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Right at the heart of Castries, this square has been named at various times as <i>Place d'Armes</i> and <i>Columbus Square</i><b>,</b> only to be changed in 1993 after the St. Lucian poet/playwright who won the Nobel Peace Prize in Literature. Standing next to this historic rendezvous is the imposing <b>Basilica of the Immaculate Conception </b>with its colorful interiors.<b> </b>Despite being under British rule prior to independence, the island has a major Catholic presence thanks to the French.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">@ Anse La Raye</td></tr>
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Hilly as St. Lucia is, the roads do start snaking to dizzying level shortly after downtown area. Anyone with motion sickness might really want to pop some Dramamine or else take the risk of seeing one's vomit instead of spectacular vistas - like the view of our ship at <b>Morne Fortune Overlook</b>. It was for this reason that I opted for us to return later to the ship by speedboat instead.<br />
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Rural scenes played out through the window as the van negotiated tight curves. Down the hill, we stopped by a banana plantation. Banana used to be St. Lucia's major industry until tourism took over. Having grown up in Davao where banana plantations abound, I wasn't as interested as the three Canadians in our group who saw a banana tree for the first time. At least, I was able to tell them there's more to a banana than just plainly eating it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">@ Anse La Raye</td></tr>
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After more hills and more curvy roads, and after passing by the fishing villages of <i>Anse La Raye</i> and <i>Canaries</i>, we came upon this viewpoint with a heart-pounding view of <b>Soufrière - </b>St. Lucia's original capital city founded by the French. It couldn't have been sited more gorgeously.<br />
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Jutting out nearby is the UNESCO World Heritage site of <b>The Pitons, </b>a collective name for two volcanic plugs called <i>Gros Piton </i>and <i>Petit Piton. </i>Together, these two conical mountains are to St. Lucia what the Pyramids are to Egypt. Visitors will always remember The Pitons, or in my case, I got excited about the island because of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Soufrière and the Pitons</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sulphur Springs</td></tr>
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At a height of 2,619 feet, <i>Gros Piton </i>is an enticing yet challenging day climb. Guided treks are available, something which I'd have done in a heartbeat if it was just me traveling. Since I couldn't make it to the top, my consolation was at least being able to visit<b> </b>on sea level at the<b> Jalousie Beach </b>wedged between the two mountains.<br />
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Before heading there, Frances drove us to nearby <b>Sulphur Springs</b>, touted as the Caribbean's only drive-in volcano. It was exactly as described: a paved road goes through a collapsed volcanic caldera with views of vents where sulfuric gases come out and spring water gets heated. Mud baths and its supposed medicinal benefits lure day-trippers on safer grounds downstream.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toraille waterfall</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church of the Assumption in Soufrière</td></tr>
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We passed by <b><span class="teal">Toraille Waterfall</span></b> which is nothing really but a trickle compared to all the ones I've seen elsewhere - too disappointing in fact I thought my bathroom shower might have more water coming off it. Still, Frances was seemingly all excited for us, offering himself to take our photos despite so many other visitors elbowing each other out for a better angle.<br />
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At the Soufrière pier, we finally met Spencer Ambrose, the owner himself. We boarded his speedboat for the 6-minute ride to Jalousie Beach. From afar, it looked inviting despite having been told it's an originally black beach now filled with white sand. It was only after arrival I realized it wasn't exactly what I was hoping for. It was crowded.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On approach to Jalousie Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicoa0GRj14PigdlFggBtESKR7-mMP0iUwP1rKSZ8Df_Gvuc8uht1WYV-LTLiEW1NWpmn_KCDF_qgyn1OiVTydrgYQZa2CvDlvz8NGv_Bw4Vt1UdLE7cWAvVfeDZFsd-fnBfEWYCF2HSOo/s700/DSC_1011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicoa0GRj14PigdlFggBtESKR7-mMP0iUwP1rKSZ8Df_Gvuc8uht1WYV-LTLiEW1NWpmn_KCDF_qgyn1OiVTydrgYQZa2CvDlvz8NGv_Bw4Vt1UdLE7cWAvVfeDZFsd-fnBfEWYCF2HSOo/s1000/DSC_1011.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jalousie Beach with Gros Piton in the background</td></tr>
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Since Spencer is merely using the facilities of a private resort, we were relegated to one small side with tables and umbrellas that have all been occupied. Snorkeling equipment was available for rent but after talking to other guests who didn't really saw much underwater, I decided to skip it. A boxed "Creole" lunch was offered which didn't excite us. Feasting on fruits my mother brought from ship was way better.<br />
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With nothing else to do (I wasn't even in the mood to swim anymore), I merely took a walk around the beach. While Jalousie beach is beautifully located, what ruined the day's experience is Spencer's lack of organization there. He booked more guests at various times of the day than he can effectively handle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqFKKszkWJxCk1VjdrBICoiUrMenjrI_lIys33RnkNhFD9xkYACeJURxTdP24dWdFaGUlPpMnHDZZxJcJTrcy0NDboYvALW960xdbC8ksiUJJjdhT8kNrdEeKnIOK2uN7TikvWyrHTLo/s700/DSC_1041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPqFKKszkWJxCk1VjdrBICoiUrMenjrI_lIys33RnkNhFD9xkYACeJURxTdP24dWdFaGUlPpMnHDZZxJcJTrcy0NDboYvALW960xdbC8ksiUJJjdhT8kNrdEeKnIOK2uN7TikvWyrHTLo/s1000/DSC_1041.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marigot Bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRsKUrjpkLKUyIKzenHCKj7_XaGqDTyGRzQullT_BVOmG74ahordeKEhBunqVp6UyrsvFIorbgsrma0Y6sHr7io-9x3T9_ATAjRj6nObyptOwJpO5yO_OEsex6xBZMoIwE0E2aSCo8QA/s700/DSC_1050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRsKUrjpkLKUyIKzenHCKj7_XaGqDTyGRzQullT_BVOmG74ahordeKEhBunqVp6UyrsvFIorbgsrma0Y6sHr7io-9x3T9_ATAjRj6nObyptOwJpO5yO_OEsex6xBZMoIwE0E2aSCo8QA/s1000/DSC_1050.JPG" width="700" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the speedboat back to ship</td></tr>
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<br />
His two speedboats scurried guests back and forth. When it was our turn at 3:00 PM for the journey back to Carnival Valor, we found out the first batch of guests were still waiting under the heat of the sun. Once the two boats came back, there was complete chaos. Everyone wanted to be on the boat. In other words, both speedboats left with more passengers than it's supposed to carry. <br />
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Despite such setback, the one-hour trip back to ship was actually a scenic "coastal tour". Spencer himself ran a commentary as we passed different parts of St. Lucia's coastline, pointing sites where a movie was filmed or where European celebrities own winter retreats. We took a little detour, sailing slowly into beautiful <b>Marigot Bay</b> and admiring this part of the island even without actually stepping on it.<br />
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The two speedboats cranked up speed, arriving back into pier where our ship was waiting. An hour later, up on Lido Deck where our hungry stomachs got filled, we see St. Lucia slowly fading away. Another long day still too short.<br />
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The Nomadic Pinoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10256568728185196065noreply@blogger.com17