We Bought The Farm

Eating Our Way Through Italy

I realise I've been a little slack in the content department of late. Such are the demands of family and working travels that it's taken a long time to start to feel caught up. But, hey, that's not a bad thing, now, is it? Anyhow, I've been thinking of a series of (I hope) three update postings with a largely foodie theme. Erik suggested I post a little more about our foodie experiences in Italy, time permitting. Yes, time, that's been the issue. Well, let this be the first, and maybe someday I'll get to the rest. Festina lente.

We had been psyching ourselves up for Italy for a couple of months, since we'd decided to go, and then to stay two weeks and have a two-centred holiday. In the run-up,I'd been augmenting Catriona's usual story-time tales with sessions poring over Frances Mayes' In Tuscany, which is a lovely book even if you don't otherwise care for her 'wide-eyed gringa in paradise' style. Catriona knew all about the olive harvest (more than your average three-year-old, I'll wager), the cheese, the wine, the sunflowers. But what she knew best of all that Italy was the home of pasta, her favourite (and rapidly becoming Daniel's too). I promised her that in Italy she could have pasta every day. I kept my promise.

Travelling with the little ones has its own challenges, although Italy is far more child-friendly than England. Still, with the kids used to checking out early, we adjusted our plans, usually, to have our big meals out at lunch time and then to stay close to home in the evenings, letting the wine flow freely and taking advantage of the wealth of mysterious Mediterranean products, as one of my favourite New Yorker cartoons so memorably puts it (I'll look for my clipping). These days, going to Italy without having a kitchen available seems a terrible waste.

Here are some of the highlights:

Exploring San Gimignano

First off, I was hoping we'd be able to avoid supermarkets, generally, and live from more local suppliers. But in the end, well, we fell for our local Co-op supermarket. Unlike in England, where the Co-op is the pricey stand-by of the smaller wayside town and purveyor of long -past-it fruit and veg, the local Co-op (for us in Figline Valdarno) was a haven of really wonderful fresh and local foods. Given that we had arrived too late and missed the market day in Greve (Saturday morning), we were grateful to find the Co-op and sort ourselves out for our first night. I was in salumi heaven. Finocchiona, bresaola. And some excellent mozzarella di bufala for caprese salad, aged pecorino (with white peaches and millefiori honey from the farm where we were staying - yum). Fresh pastas. Some chianti classico, and some more bog-standard but eminently drinkable table wine. We really didn't need to go far from home. Honestly, I doubt an Italian would suffer a crappy supermarket.

I already mentioned our visit to the butcher, Da Cecchini. His shop is lovely. You are greeted with a glass of chianti, invited to chow down on olives, bread, tasters. Lunch, almost. Our purchases sorted us out for several meals - the porchetta (bought by the slice, not the sandwich), with crackling. The excellent sausages, with a really good meaty bite to them and redolent with rosemary and garlic. And the bistecca, which we saved for our barbecue in Ravello the following week, cooked the way he recommended, with only some olive oil and seasoned salt - he provides the latter. Let stand for 12 hours at room temperature. Grill five minutes on each end over a red-hot fire, then 15 minutes on the side...not more. Don't touch with metal, only wood or your hands. Served with slightly grilled tomatoes and italian green beans with lemon juice. We had leftovers that lasted until our flight home. Let me tell you - that's flying first class, even on a cattle-car flight.

At the central market in Florence, among other things (more salumi, bread, cheese, and fresh San Marzano tomatoes), I found some stuffed saddle of rabbit. Stuffed with herbs, artichoke, mozzarella and prosciutto. I roasted this under the grill for about 30 minutes and served it with just a salad. Such perfect summer food. Oh, and the wine, of course. Classico from the farm.

Simplest salad ever: tinned cannellini beans and a big slab of tuna (tonno), bought in oil from a local deli in Greve, oil, salt, pepper and herbs. Served with a sort of focaccia/crispbread I found.

Our big meal for the Tuscan week was at La Cantinetta di Rignana, a farmhouse out in the sticks but not too far from where we stayed (ergo,...). We had some excellent beef (mine was in a balsamic glaze, and although I think balsamic vinegar tends to be overused, it was a light touch here, served around a delicious cut of bistecca), and some really fine homemade pastas - the kids loved this place. We drank the farm's own classico and, well, we had to have a second bottle. Since I was driving we stre-e-e-tched the afternoon out and the kids had a good play on the jungle gym while I had an espresso doppio and drank in the scenery. Expensive place, but value for money. Full marks.

In Naples we had pizza - what else? And the kids had pasta. I gained a new appreciation for pizza after Naples. It was so good. The crust inspired me. I know I probably won't be able to recreate it on my stone at home, but it won't stop me trying (I confess to making excellent homemade pizza, but also concede room for improvement in crust technique).

Taking a break on the walk to Minori

Another find for us was in the town of Minori, which was basically straight downhill from our house in Ravello. We know - we walked. With two trooper kids who hung on for the whole walk; about an hour down step after scenic step (Daniel :"step, step, bigstep" - after a while, I did carry him). We had lunch at Ristorante L'arsenale, which is where the pasta photo in my earlier posting was taken. Set just back from the coast, we settled in for what proved to be the big meal of this week, with three kinds of pasta (for the kids, of course) and a massive seafood platter. We drank some white Frassitelli wine from Ischia - the vineyard (quick loading flash) of cousins of the man who looked after me so well on my 2001 visit to Ischia. Another long leisurely afternoon, followed by a couple of hours on the beach and a visit to a pasta fresca shop to get some take-aways for dinner.

On our last day, we had lunch in Ravello at Cumpá Cosimo. This place was the most unexpectedly convivial. We were getting tired of all the hauling around, but you can't help but enjoy the infectious welcome you receive from Donna Netta. Her first order of business was to get the kids started on a mountain of pasta. And we had so much food from the antipasti to the tiramisu (we had pasta as well, and I had a grilled sausage for my secondo) that I'm not sure how she worked our bill, but it was a whole lot less than I had reckoned. I think she just looked at our family, said, "This is what it should cost to feed a family of four." and left it at that. I think it was about €65, including two big pitchers of house white wine.

Did we have any "lowlights"? Yes. We had a fairly disappointing meal at Bottega del Moro in Greve-in-Chianti. Our guidebook (from 1998, admittedly) gave it good marks, and to their credit we did order off-menu, finding their short (two starters, two mains) lunch offering disappointingly non-Tuscan. A positive was eating in their gazebo, where Daniel gave us a running commentary on every passing bus and truck ("mammi, mammi? MAMMI?" "Yes, Daniel?" "bahss" "Thank you, Daniel."). We also were disappointed by La Cisterna on Capri, where we landed by accident after finding our intended destination closed and our kids at the boiling point. Here, frustrating service let down some decent food (although the caprese here, in its birthplace, was low-grade). I was really put off by the owner trying to pull a total fast one with a credit card surcharge. I called him on it, fought it and won, but it left me feeling prickly and the opposite of 'restored' after lunch.

I would point out we had a really useful guide for Naples and the Amalfi Coast part of our trip, Carla Capalbo's The Food And Wine Guide To Naples And Campania, which pretty brilliantly helped plan our trail through our second week. I had ordered her similar volume on Tuscany, but it didn't arrive in time. Oh well, something to look forward to on our next visit. Also worth mentioning - no trip to Tuscany is ever undertaken without Nancy Jenkins' Flavors of Tuscany in the carry-on.

Erik, we didn't get any lardo, although if it's any consequence, we can get good lardo di collonata here in London, and my wife still won't eat it.

Pros and Cons

I've lived outside the US for more than eight years now, mainly in England but with a two year stint in Brazil. While I still strongly identify with my nationality, my sensibilities and sensitivities have become far more European. Thus, coming over to the US is for me an exercise in observation and extraction. To fit in perfectly and comfortably (I even find a southern accent surprisingly easy to effect), but to see things so much as an outsider. And to try to take home from my visit the things I find noteworthy.

Last year we were in Las Vegas, where we attended a performance of Peter Pan at the Cashman Center. We pulled into a car park full of SUVs, only to find out that the same venue was also hosting a gun show. We're walking our two-year-old daughter cheerfully in to watch Peter Pan and Tinkerbell and all of these people are walking back to their trucks with guns in their hands. That kind of a juxtaposition is just what strikes me as so unmistakably American.

Sign on restaurant door, "It's a crime to carry a concealed handgun without a permit on these premises." In Spanish, too.

I shouldn't be surprised that in Texas the prevalence of SUVs and pick-ups is even greater than in Vegas. I picked up my rental car - a Dodge Neon, which is classed as a Compact. The girl asked me if I wanted to upgrade to a Cadillac or an SUV. No, thanks, the Neon will do. This car is bigger than most cars on the road in England, but I confess to feeling downright dwarfed driving this thing along the freeway through the tunnel of hulking oversized SUVs and pick-ups that probably never see more off-road than occasionally driving on the shoulder or jumping a curb to get around one of the million inconsiderate drivers who haunt the streets of Houston.

It takes big people to drive big trucks. On average. A web friend noted that Houston was the "fat city" and I find this is true, or was, until Detroit was voted a fatter city. People here are big. I'm big, so, again, I can fit right in. But these people are supersize-me big. One of my colleagues was sitting in his office with one of those take-away drink cups the size of a small garbage can. A dinner entree, for $10, is so big that I stand no chance of finishing it. The slices of dessert on the trays at my conference today were so large that I felt ill halfway through my cheesecake. I love the 'bottomless' iced tea, constantly topped up by a too-attentive waitress. So ubiquitous in Houston, but there really is only so much you can drink. Ugh.

At the same time, the US has so much to recommend it. I sigh with envy and resignation at the sense of the possible here. Prices are low; houses are huge. Gas is cheap; cars are cheap. I can totally understand how unapologetic untravelled Americans take this as their birthright. By rights, it's mine too, although I chafe at the excess of it all from the safety of our shoebox in London.

Things are piled high and sold cheap. Houston is a retail wasteland; an enormous grid of strip malls punctuated by shopping malls and the occasional high-rise. Driving on the main roads, you don't really see where people sleep, only where they shop; set back from the road by giant car parks and free-standing restaurants (that serve really good food in, naturally, huge portions). Drive a mile or two and it repeats. Jack-In-The-Box, Borders, Starbucks, Office Depot, Taco Bell, Wal-Mart, Supercuts, Jack-In-... Category killing big box retail located conveniently close to you, wherever you are.

And yet, and yet. And yet. When I come to the US, I come with a shopping list. Silly things. Things you just can't get in the UK. I bought an ice cream maker. Not one of those kitchen counter appliances, no. A motorised crank churn barrel 1-gallon capacity rock-salt machine. Like we had when I was a kid. I bought a pizza peel, and a butter bell. The kind of useless kitchen toys that, yeah, you could probably find them somewhere in England if you spent long enough looking, but you know that Williams and Sonoma will just have what you want (and make you drool over the All-Clad skillets that still might come home with me).

I've bought books. Books I could order at home, but, well, they're here; they're cheap, and I might as well travel heavy. Yes, we have Borders at home. But not like the one I was in this afternoon. It looks like a casino from the outside. Big and welcoming. Once inside, I felt lost and kept thinking, "now, why am I here, exactly?". Then I feebly browse for 45 minutes, finally to select a title so as to justify my whip round through the shop (I also bought each of the kiddies a little book - Borders is a mecca for kids books).

I've bought beer. Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Shiner Bock (hey, I am in Houston). Dead Guy Ale. I bought a 20-ounce bag of nacho chips and a bottle of posh salsa. Stuff that just doesn't make the leap.

I shopped, therefore I was. I consumed, therefore I fit right in.

Houston has a Pacifica radio affiliate, KPFT. Wonderful. Lefty talk and excellent music. The voices of the dispossessed. Prison radio. Black voices. Community voices. I drove home last night listening to the Spanish-language programming. My Spanish is rusty, but I could still follow. I even put words into the DJ's mouth at one point. Lovely Latin music; real music, with soul. It's funny - they play BBC news. I could be at home. I could probably simulcast the Houston radio station playing BBC news in my living room in London. Coals to Newcastle, with an Afro-Caribbean soundtrack.

The sense of the possible.

British folks who stay in the US often cite something like the sense of the possible as the reason they fell for the place. Land of opportunity. The longer I live there, the more I understand. The longer I stay here, the more I understand. Lower tax. Lower prices. More disposable income. Lower barriers to entry. And I wonder...are we making the right choice, living over there, raising our kids over there? I could probably find a thousand jobs over here, oil man that I am. The place is positively ebullient with that 60-bucks-a-barrel vibe. Boom town. It's been bust town before. Piled high, sold cheap, unapologetic, brash, friendly...welcoming.

Lulled in by the seductive charms. Wake from the reverie! There must be more than this no-place anywhereness to life. Least common denominator. Land of opportunity knocks. Don't answer. There must be more than this race for the bottom that feels so damned good. Ingrate! Keep looking! Keep shopping!

Flying Visit

We're back from our holidays in Italy. We had a lovely time - a week based on a farm (vines, olives) in Tuscany, and then a week in Ravello, on the Amalfi coast. Two really different experiences, but both very Italian. Tuscany was very foodie. We took some side trips (to Florence, San Gimignano) but tried to stay close to home and enjoy the landscape. The farm sold its own Chianti Classico and olive oil, and we finally made it to L'Antica Macelleria Cecchini, a landmark on the foodie map, where we got some wonderful bistecca, porchetta and some delicious sausages.

In front of the church in Panzano

The Amalfi coast, by contrast, was quite an active holiday. Lots of walking, beaches, a day in Naples, a day on Capri. The apartment we rented was not on a street, but stairs. 43 up from the road, or 143 down from the town centre. You think differently when you have to hump everything into and out of your hillside house. The last night we managed, just the grown-ups, to take in the Ravello Festival open air Wagner concert, with Gergiev and the Mariinsky. It was just as Gore Vidal describes it, with the full moon rising. Lovely.

The kids sharing some pasta in Minori (can you see Dan's chicken pox?)

This past weekend, our only one in town for a while, we took in the Opera Holland Park production of Andrea Chénier (fantastic - dramatic and rousing) and then spent Sunday at the WOMAD Festival. So many of these summer events were staples for us "BC" - before children, and before Brazil. It's nice to be able to resume doing them, and doing some of them (like WOMAD, which is very family-friendly) with the kids.

Catriona grooving at WOMAD

In a sense, I'm really only just passing through, doing my time at work. This weekend, I'm off to Houston for a week, and on my return I'll join the rest of the family in Scotland; we'll be staying with friends and taking in the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, another fixture on our summer calendar. So, quiet times ahead on the blog as I'll be making hay while the sun's still shining.

Domani, Italia

Things will be quiet around the blog for the next couple of weeks as we're off to Italy on our summer holidays. We're planning to spend a week in Tuscany and a week on the Amalfi Coast. I expect pretty near Internet silence, and for once I'm really looking forward to it. Back later in the month. Until then, Ciao!

Top of the World

Via a thread on Ask Metafilter, Hillman's Top 100 Wonders of the World. I've visited 43, with a 44th ( No. 53) planned as part of our summer holiday.

Way Up North

So much for being a better blogger these past few weeks. I just don't have much to blog about right now. We've been on the road up in Scotland for the past 10 days, and Internet access is occasional at best. I'm putting up this entry from a friend's house in Aberdeen.

We've been enjoying a visit with many friends and relatives - people we haven't seen for years (since our wedding in some cases). We've had some exceptional meals and most of all have been enjoying the conversation as we catch up and introduce people to our expanded family.

Dodging the landslides and flooding, we've had stops in Harrogate, Edinburgh and Dundee, now Aberdeen and from tomorrow we'll be up in Caithness, about 4-1/2 hours up to the northwest from here (about as far up as you can go on the British mainland). We'll be spending a week in a cottage up there. Finally a chance to unwind a bit and do some reading, and maybe catch up with a few entries.

Until then...

Flying Visit

I'm just back from a brief visit to the US - my first time back "home" in over three years. I flew up from Rio overnight on Wednesday and flew back overnight on Saturday. Too much flying in four days, but it was nice to be back in my hometown of Pittsburgh for a spell.

I managed to accomplish all of my main objectives: visit with my Dad and his lady friend, sort through a bunch of crap from my childhood and get it into some condition to ship to the UK, take delivery of some of my new toys (I already love the iPod), and see an old friend. I also managed to drink a few six packs of my favourite beer in the world and inhale a fish sandwich from the Original Oyster House.

It was my first visit to the US since September 11th. Security was definitely tighter - I had my shoes off in both DC and Pittsburgh, and my luggage unpacked and thoroughly searched in Rio and São Paulo. I flew with United, and give them high marks for their Economy Plus cabin on the 767. Comfortable enough that I managed a good night's sleep each way, helped on the return by the Bose Quiet Comfort 2 noise-cancelling headphones, which left me in a cathedral-like space with Karen Peris's haunting vocals on the latest Innocence Mission CD.

Photos

I stuck a few photos up on my earlier Chile entry.

A Visit to Chile

We are back from our family vacation in Chile. We really enjoyed our trip, although travelling with two little ones is demanding and tends to impact what you can do. After our travels in Peru last year, we decided to limit our moving around and stick to three centres for the 9 days we had in-country. In Peru we moved every day.

The fish market in Santiago

We started off in Santiago. I was impressed, but at the same time found it a bit sterile. A modern and prosperous city, but with an old core. Similar in some ways to Lima, I thought, although richer. I would say generally of Chile that the country is more prosperous than either Peru or Brazil. Where there is poverty, it seemed better-off than in other countries.

We had a couple of days to explore Santiago, and that seemed enough. We saw the major sites: the Club Hípico, the Moneda palace (seat of government, badly damaged in the 1973 coup, but restored today), the cathedral, the statue of the Virgin Mary on San Cristobal hill. We also enjoyed a wonderful seafood lunch (ceviche and almejas) in the Mercado Central. I let my Lenten fasting regime slip in Chile (intentionally) as part of the point of the trip was to taste Chile - the food and the wine, especially.

While in Santiago, we also made a trip out to the Maipo valley, where we visited the Undurraga winery. They had a good tour, but not a very good tasting (only one wine was offered - a carmenere - but a good wine it was).

My family and the 2004 Cabernet-Sauvignon

After that, we moved on to Santa Cruz, in the Colchagua valley. There's a fine hotel there - the Santa Cruz Plaza. That was our base to visit the wineries of Bisquertt and Viu Manent. The latter was a real highlight of our trip, with a horse-carriage tour of the vineyards and sampling of the wines right from the holding tanks. Both wineries had a good range of wines to sample and to buy.

Also from Santa Cruz, we had the opportunity to visit the local museum, which has a fantastic collection relating to Chile's history, from pre-Columbian to the modern-day, and also to an old hacienda house that belonged to a former president of Chile. It was donated to the Chilean army in the 1970s in its original condition and is today open to the public.

One of the volcanoes peeks through the clouds

And then we moved on, flying south to Puerto Montt, the entry point for the Lakes district. This was the other real highlight of the trip. We stayed right on Lago Llanhique at Puerto Varas. At 41 degrees south, this part of Chile was well into autumn, and it was "chilly in Chile". The volcanoes overshadowing the lakes were snow-capped. The lakes were blue and cold (although some hardy souls were swimming in them). I particularly enjoyed visiting a little village called Frutillar and the farm country around it. This whole area was nearly empty until settled by Germans in the mid-1800s. They cleared the forest and have settled into mostly dairy and orchard farming. From Santiago south, you really see how agricultural Chile is, and suddenly it's no surprise how much produce in the Northern Hemisphere winter comes from Chile (food miles be damned).

The Tronador glacier on the Argentina-Chile border

From Puerto Varas, we took a day trip on the Cruce de Lagos - a passage through the Andes to Bariloche, in Argentina. We went only as far as Peulla, on the Chilean side, but it afforded some wonderful views of the volcanoes and glaciers in the Andes.

Generally, I was enchanted by the wine country; by its scenery (arid valleys, olive groves and vineyards). It had a very Mediterranean feel. But overall, I think I fell even harder for the farmlands around Lago Llanhique. It's refreshing to actually see the farmers out in their fields working the land. In the back of my mind I couldn't help but add this to my short list of "I could live here" places.

World Travel Map

Via Metafilter, my world travel map:

I've visited 36 countries (16%). Next up will be Chile in March, and I've still got a handful of "easy" ones left to visit.

Create your own visited country map.

[Edit: I took out Puerto Rico from both the ticklist and the headcount: 36 countries now] [PS - I knew it wasn't a country. How do you treat USVI, BVI? And how do you classify Wales and Scotland?]

[Edit: How did I miss Spain from my list? And now I can't get back onto the site to generate a new map. Methinks they suffer bandwidth limitations and the MeFi meme effect.]

Back Home

We are back from Peru. A fantastic journey. I'm using Blogger Pro to backfill with entries about our trip.

A sign of a successful vacation is that you forget about work. This happened early in Peru. We moved a lot, with each day's visit seeming to last far longer than it was. Near the end of the week I had completely lapsed into 'trip' mode, leaving our project in Brazil far behind. We spent a lot of time in transit. We stayed in a new room nearly every night. We packed up the family, including our little one, each morning and set out to see something new and different. We had a lot of very early wake-up calls. We lived through landslides and breakdowns and had some very near misses. It wasn't a holiday about resting and relaxing - it was more an adventure (with, admittedly, very nice accommodation).

It is amazingly sweet to be home again. The season is changing to autumn. Last night was cool enough to have us closing some windows, and climbing out of bed this morning made me glad the water was hot and the coffee on the way. Our daughter went down for her nap last night at 5:30 and never got up again...we tried, but she was just too worn out from the journey. Should we feel bad? She goes on and on when things are interesting - you can't make her sleep. And then it catches up. And we went down early-ish, too. And sleeping in one's own bed is the best thing about a homecoming. I'm sure the little one would agree!

And now, back to work, back to our project, with about 3 months to run. We have a lot yet to accomplish in the months ahead. I am rested, my vacation schedule for the year basically has me working straight through to the end of the job (a quick break at Easter is planned), and for once I feel travelled-out for a while. I am hoping I can make a breakthrough in my Portuguese. I was thinking yesterday that I am probably going to be fully able to read, but not yet able to speak fluently. But at last night's lesson I impressed myself. There's hope for me yet.

Cusco 2

Our failure to reach Abancay gave us one benefit - extra time in Cusco - the rest of the day, plus the whole next day which we would have spent on the bus, if we could have made it back. We put this to good use.

We had a nap on returning to the hotel in Cusco. The bus journey was pretty exhausting, and we were back at 3400m. And then we went out for a stroll in town and dinner at the Inka Grill. In early, as usual, but Saturday was (finally) our chance for a real sleep.

And we did. We slept until about 8:00, which was a real luxury for us by now. We dawdled over breakfast before heading out into town to see the churches, museums and other attractions our tour had skipped but for which we could enter with our tourist ticket.

We started in San Blas, an artisans area near a church with a fantastic wood pulpit. Then down to check out the Monasterio hotel, which is supposed to be the nicest in town (and probably in Peru). It is another old monastery, even nicer than our hotel. Really beautiful - you wish you could stay a while to relax in the setting.

Then a coffee, then the main square, some shopping and a pizza lunch (comfort food for all - the little one loves pizza). Then through the Merced monastery (lots of monasteries in Cusco) and a tour of the Qoriqanqa museum (with some Incan and pre-Incan artifacts. We went back to the hotel for a rest in the late afternoon, then went back out for a little shopping (I bought a hat that I am probably not going to be able to wear in public for fear of my wife dying of embarrassment) and dinner. The restaurant was recommended by our guide book, but was pretty full of tour groups. And for once the music was fantastic - something really apart from the usual el condor pasa tooty-toot pan pipe music you hear all too often. The band was Resolucion, and their music was a dip back into traditional Andean music. So good, we bought their CD, which is based on music recorded on a trek to find a remote tribe that may be the last living link to the Incas.

We went to bed about 11:00 and were up at 6:45 to prepare for our departure, back through Lima to Sao Paulo and then home. Disappointingly, after we made it out of Cusco early, our flight to Sao Paulo was so delayed that we could not make it home that evening. Our trip was extended by another night, we stayed at the same airport hotel we had stayed at (intentionally) on the way out, and we made it home the next day about noon. The hotel was fine, but at the end of a journey, even though you will be tired, you really just want to get home.

Abancay

My second cousin is a medical missionary in Peru. We had made plans to visit with him while on our journey, which required us to take a bus the 165km from Cusco to Abancay - a journey of 5 hours. You do the math; you find the average speed is about 20 miles an hour. And then you note...we are in the Andes; there's no such thing as a straight line. Another cousin, his brother, had, I thought, written the definitive summary of this journey and posted it here.

And maybe he has written the definitve summary of a journey that reaches Abancay. This leaves us to write the story of a trip with the same intended destination, but one that never made it.

Our journey started early - the guide picked us up at our hotel at 6 o'clock for a 6:30 bus. When we met, we discovered that they had booked us with a different bus company to the one my cousin recommended. When we reached the bus station, we found that both have a bus leaving at the same time. The other bus was cheaper; the one recommended to us was meant to be more reliable and comfortable. So, we changed our tickets, paid the extra 2 soles ($0.66) per person, and set off at 6:30 for Abancay.

About the only thing our journey had in common with my cousin's was the tamale vendor who joined our bus shortly after departure and made the rounds with good-smelling and cheap breakfast (which we opted to skip). We passed through a village, stopped for a few passengers en route, and then carried on to another village, where we again stopped. After a few minutes of sitting, I wondered what was going on. I had a look out the window and saw a man emerging from under the back of the bus. And on we sat. And sat. For 45 minutes we sat. I am not finally sure what the problem was - it was too long to change a tire; probably something with the axle or suspension. Or brakes. So, best to fix them now. I saw the driver and his mate sorting out some change in their pockets to pay for the repair. And then about 8:15 we pulled away from the town and continued our journey. We figured we were going to be late, and hoped that the driver would not, as a consequence, drive like a madman. And he didn't. Which was good.

We seemed to be making good time from there. We passed through a narrow valley filled with small subsistence farmsteads (corn, pigs, cattle) with sod houses. I remembered that the ancestors I shared with my cousins had lived in a soddie out on the western Nebraska prairie. We crossed over a pass which offered spectacular views stretching out for miles below, then down a twisting road. An old Chuck Norris Missing in Action film was playing, which then became a straight-to-video special I had never heard of called Thou Shalt Not Kill...Except. We reached the bottom of the valley and were running alongside (and once through) a river when we came across a fresh landslide. A few vehicles had already reached the fresh mound of earth and car-sized rocks that was completely blocking the road. Our driver turned the bus around and we went back to the nearest village, where we stopped for breakfast while a road crew came and cleared the impasse. The driver said it would be about an hour.

There were two cafes alongside the road, and we chose the one with tablecloths (and clientele). Breakfast was offered - a plate of noodles with meat. Not hot, but probably it had once been. And it was pretty tasty. Also a cup of coffee made the Peruvian way - a cup of hot water and a bottle of very strong instant coffee. It wasn't offered, but I would have passed on milk.

After breakfast, we wandered around town until the bus came back - he had returned to the landslide and was monitoring the clearance. We all got back on the bus, less two women who had opted to return to Cusco.

We rolled back down the hill, through the river, over a stretch of road, undermined by the river, that our driver took wide, and soon we came across another landslide - this one even fresher. A large rock had fallen from the hillside and struck a bus that had been just in front of us. It looked ugly - the bus was skewed sideways off its front wheels. A big glass side window had been completely shattered (but, being safety glass, it held together). All of the passengers were on the side of the road; some of them being treated for injuries. We later read in the paper that nine people, including three foreigners, had been injured. Their bus was completely out of commission. Some were sitting by the side of the road when our bus reloaded and we carried on. The landslide was small and the road was still open ahead. I thought it curious that, even though we had empty seats, we did not take on any of the passengers. Maybe they had a different destination.

But then, only one or two kilometers further along, we came to a bridge at a place called Media Luz. There were a number of vehicles stopped before the bridge, and it was clear why. The bridge was clearly under repair, but it seems that even more of it had given way. To my eye, there was no way anything as wide as a bus was going to get across. But then I do not have the eyes of an experienced Peruvian bus driver.

Another thing was bothering me. The most recent deterioration of the bridge had to be very fresh, because there were only a couple of buses and trucks ahead of us, and all of these buses had set out from Cusco expecting to get through. Behind us, the road had been closed for an hour or so to clear the previous landslide, so not many cars could have been held up between the bridge and the landslide, suggesting this had just happened. For example, there was no sign of the bus we would have taken had we not changed company. It occurred to me that if the rest of this bridge collapsed, we would have no way to get back to Cusco, which we were scheduled to do the next day, and where we had left most of our luggage.

Our bus driver ordered everyone off the bus. We asked if he was going to turn back. No, he wasn't. We wanted to turn back. The bus was going to carry on. We were going to walk over the bridge while he drove.

An old man who heard us asking if we were going back to Cusco shouted to us...he, too, had decided to turn back. He asked another bus driver, who had decided to go back, to wait while we took our bags off the first bus. We got on the bus and never looked back. We were more than halfway to Abancay; it was 11:10 (we were scheduled to arrive in 20 minutes, but still had hours ahead of us on the road).

Quite an adventure, but it doesn't end there. Our bus carried on up the hill, retracing the twists to the top of the valley where we had previously enjoyed such a spectacular view. Looking ahead, I could see a waterfall that I hadn't noticed before. The reason was, it hadn't been there before. It had only just started that morning, when a massive hillside slipped down onto the road, completely covering the road with rocks and mud. It was a very pretty site which we had some time to admire while we tried to decide what to do next.

It was clear that they weren't going to get the road open any time soon (if the last slide had been any guide, this was many hours' work - we were becoming landslide experts!). Even if they could get the equipment, they probably had two days' work ahead of them. And that presumed that more didn't come down. We didn't like our chances...if the water kept falling down the hill, it would probably loosen even more earth. This bus was not going forward. There was no way back down to Abancay (if they couldn't cross the bridge). I had seen some pretty scruffy looking mattresses stacked in a shed in the town where we had breakfast - that might have been for such occurrences.

Right behind us, an ambulance pulled up. The injured from the other landslide bus. We heard that one had a broken leg. We were having a bad day, but their's was definitely worse.

We finally decided that if we were going to get back to Cusco, we had better go forward and cross the rubble now, before more earth came down. The risk was, you never knew when that was going to be. While we watched, a few small pieces did come down. A couple of guys decided to be the first. They went out over the rocks and through the new stream flowing down the mountain and across the road. We didn't wait too long before we followed them.

This was a very hard decision to take. We had among ourselves three backpacks (one quite heavy), a baby carriage and one freshly-wakened and wiggly baby (16 months). She actually seemed to be enjoying the activity, but what do you do if the mountain starts to come down while you're out there - it was going to take several minutes to get across.

We stayed close. My wife took the baby and her backpack. I took the two backpacks and the pushchair. My load was so heavy that I was having trouble maintaining my footing. I started throwing the pushchair a few steps forward (I half reckoned that it was our shelter should anything start coming down). Then my backpack...the load was too heavy. After a while another man passed us and carried the pushchair to safety. We carried on, eventually reaching the other side.

My hands, my backpack, my trousers were all covered in mud. We were pretty filthy. But we were all safe.

Next task...getting back to Cusco.

There were no buses stuck on the other side. Only a few trucks and cars that were overstuffed. We waited a while. Another woman with a baby came across.

A road engineer with a pickup came up to look at the slip. We asked about a lift. He said that he had to ferry the injured back when they could be carried across the rockpile. Fair point...we were still walking, at least. Then some more debris started shifting down the hill - a pretty good distance from the initial slip. We moved back and further away to a place where the hill slope was more gradual. Another engineer came up in another pickup. He was going to go back to town to arrange the gear that was needed to clear the road. And we were lucky...people took pity on us, probably mostly for the baby factor but also some for the gringo factor. We caught a lift with him. The two mums and babies in the front with the driver; me, the old man, a few other guys and another road engineer in the payload, along with lots of luggage and a spare tire.

At altitude the air was chilly, but not too cold. It felt fresh after being on a bus for six hours. The conversation was interesting, where my Spanish could sustain me. The engineer estimated that at least 1000 cubic meters of earth had fallen. I wondered if this was a bit like waves - after a certain size, you don't measure - they are all 15-footers. Maybe all big 'uns are 1000 cubic meters. The old man had a laugh at my expense - he had seen me on the bus pointing out the beautiful waterfall. We stopped for a minute while the road engineer flagged down a colleague and told him to bring the big gear up from the Cusco side since they couldn't get the gear from the other side because of the bridge.

We drove ahead to the nearest village; about 15 km ahead. There, they dropped us off at the combi stand, where we caught a shared combi van to the next town. It filled up full with a real slice of Peruvian life - all of the stereotypes I could have thought of (except those guys with the pan pipes!)...women in bright woven vests and ponchos, a very old woman with an Andean stovepipe hat, some young kids who were fascinated with our blonde baby, the old man, the other woman with the baby, a young boy and, yes, one live rooster.

The combi only went as far as the next town, but there we were able to get a slightly bigger bus back to Cusco. We made it back to Cusco about 3 o'clock, got a taxi to the hotel (where we were not expected, but were able to get a room), and called my cousin to let them know that we would not be rolling into town anytime soon.

They had already heard of the delay. In fact, we heard from the road engineer that our bus itself was not allowed to try crossing the bridge, but probably those who had pressed on finally reached Abancay by walking over, then catching a bus on the other side.

Still, on reaching our hotel we congratulated ourselves on having made the right decision to turn back. And as disappointed as we were not to reach Abancay and meet my cousin and his family, we both felt that we had experienced something far beyond our expectations; far beyond our comfort. A journey that jarred us out of our tourist perspective and brought us much closer to the people and the countryside we were passing through. It is said of travel that hardships make for the strongest memories and the best stories. So for that it is hard to be let down by our own Abancay bus ride.

Machu Picchu

Our travel agent left a note saying that the train for Machu Picchu left at 6:00AM, so they would call at 5:30, and to make things easy they had also put in a wake-up call on our behalf for 4:30. You can imagine our delight.

We had a quick breakfast (the hotel is used to these early departures for the first train) and were waiting in the pre-dawn cold for our transfer to PeruRail. We took their VistaDome service, which I thought was going to be one of those cool observatory cars you used to see on old trains, but was actually only a train car with big cut-out windows in the roof so you could look up as well as out.

The first hour of the ride is spent rising above Cusco on a zig-zag of track. You have to climb the hill behind Cusco to Poroy before you start on the relatively flat portion of the journey, following the Urubamba River valley to the terminus at Aguas Calientes. The train arrives at about 9:45. Our guide gave us orders on the train: "Walk to the bus, get on the bus - any bus, meet me at the top. Do not go to your hotel, just drop your bags with them. Don't miss the buses or you will miss the tour." We did all of this; the bus takes about 30 minutes to wind its way up the hillside from 2000m to 2400m, where you arrive at Machu Picchu reception. And then the tour formed up and we went in.

Nothing prepares you for the scale or the purity of the setting of Machu Picchu. You round a corner and you are looking at a hillside full of terraces and ruins. And even though there are many people in groups around the grounds, it does not seem crowded (only 300,000 people visited last year; less than 1000 per day).

The guide takes you around the grounds, telling you a bit of its history. All the guides are different; ours was a specialist on Machu Picchu - a university professor and published author on the subject. He was interesting, but certainly had his own spin on the place. We tagged along at the tail end of the tour, sometimes hearing his lectures, sometimes not. We had the baby and I had to take it easy at time since it was steep and the steps were uneven in places. At the end of the tour he tells you all the things you can do, especially if you have two days
(which we did). You can climb to the top of the nearby mountain and look back down on the ruins (3-6 hours). You can climb to the top of the Inca Trail at the Sun Gate (3 hours, round trip). You can go to the Inca Bridge (only 1 hour). It all sounded great, but his advice was like playing fortune cookies "in bed". Every trip sounded a lot longer "with a baby on your back." My back and feet were killing me after the first two hours.

We stopped for lunch. I'll just say that nothing about Machu Picchu is cheap (I found Peru generally more expensive than Brazil, for that matter). $20 to get in, $15 for the bus, $22 for lunch. They definitely get you for your tourist dollar. But you're in a bind - you wouldn't NOT do it, would you? Anyway, after lunch my feet and back were better, so we went back in for a while, climbed a bit higher, made some pictures. But then my wife started feeling ill...the ill that I had felt the previous night.

We went down to our hotel, the marvelous Machu Picchu (Inkaterra) Pueblo. I was feeling a bit better, so I took the baby for a look around while the missus got some sleep. But then the baby started getting cranky (wouldn't drink her milk; only wanted to eat sweet potato chips) so we went back home for a sleep that, once again, became an early night. We kind of regret not having dinner at the hotel - the setting and the furnishings were really gorgeous - a sort of colonial Spanish architecture set in cloud forest, surrounded by flowers and the sound of the racing river.

But we were looking forward to a lie-in. Until we found out that checkout was at 9 AM. Who thought that up? Anyway, we still slept until 7, which was for me about 11 hours, and for my wife about 13 hours. She awoke feeling better. I think we both were just suffering from fatigue and the altitude.

We had breakfast at the hotel, then had to make the decision - back up, or not. We decided for 'not'. Hard work, and we had to leave on the 15:30 train. So, we went into town, had a stroll around and a look at the kitschy souvenirs, then came back to the hotel for a guided tour of the orchid garden (>350 varieties, about 70 in flower). We went for a basic lunch along the river, then walked up in time to catch the train back to Cusco.

Back in Cusco, we returned to the Libertador. Most of our luggage was there, so we had an easy check-in, a reasonably fast turnaround and went out for a nice dinner of parrilla which none of us were hungry for. They say that altitude kills the appetite. Maybe so. I lost 3-4 kg on the trip, but won't swear that a tummy bug wasn't partly to credit. We went home for another early (and warm, cosy) night, but knew to be up at 5:00 to make our bus to Abancay the next day.

Cusco

Up early again. Last night, I argued with the travel agent, who wanted us to leave at 7:00 for a 9:40 flight. I hate waiting at airports. But he insisted this was necessary, so we were up at 6:00. This gets old quickly. And then, when we go down to check out and have breakfast, there's a note: will call at 7:30. And even then, he did not come until 7:40. Unless you're in Bangkok or some other city where traffic is a true issue, I can't see the reason to be at the airport so long before flying, especially domestically. A lot of airlines are starting to do this "be at the gate an hour before flight time." And still they do not board before 30 minutes; usually less. Time waiting; time travelling - it's all wearying and affects the quality of life on a travel holiday.

We had an uneventful flight up to Cusco, and our contact met us and took us to our hotel, the Libertador. Very nice place. It's an old monastery, with a very colonial feeling inside. The room was good, too. We had a quick but unexciting (and expensive) lunch at the hotel before being picked up in the afternoon for a city and ruins tour. We've had these tours - Rio, Buenos Aires, Lima, and now Cusco. We don't like them, but in a sense they are a necessary evil. In Lima, it was even private, which was great. But in Cusco we were the first pick-up, then we had to wrap around for about 45 minutes collecting people at other hotels. And to make things worse, the tour started right outside our hotel. What a waste!

We visited the Inca temple ruins in town, then the cathedral (truly stunning), and then four sites outside of town. It started to rain. Cusco is 3300m above sea level. It's cold. And when it rains, the rain is a cold, mountain rain. It cuts to the skin. We were somewhat prepared, but not for that much water. We were all soaked and freezing, and the baby got tired and needed to poop out for a while. But the tour was worthwhile...the Inca ruins were interesting and helped to put Cusco and Machu Picchu in context.

On the trip home from these tours, they should give an option to get a taxi and go straight home. Or they should drop the first pick-ups first. Or they should respect that people with cold, wet babies might want to get home first. But they didn't do any of this, and we drove around in "rush hour" Cusco for about an hour, dropping all of the others off before returning to our hotel. I was soaking wet and very tired, but still went out to get some nappies and try to find some milk, beer and wine. It is surprisingly hard to find milk, even UHT, in Peru. Our guide in Lima said that Peruvians are small because they just refuse to drink milk. How odd.

By the time I came back, I was really run down. We put the baby down for a nap, then took one ourselves. Only 7:00 became 8:00 became later and eventually I knew I couldn't get up again. I was shivering with the cold and my head hurt from the altitude. And the baby was happy, if not fed, and suddenly we were all in bed and the heat was on and it was very warm and it was very good and. Yes.

Pisco

From Lima, we travelled south to Pisco, the notional home of the Pisco Sour (well, at least the Pisco (brandy) part of the Pisco Sour, which apparently has its origins at a posh hotel in Lima - as an aside, Pisco Sour - ick - I'll stick to caipirinhas).

The road south from Lima to Pisco travels through some pretty desolate country. Desert. Like the Atacama - the place in Chile where it never rains. It's probably part of the same desert, really. And it's offputting to see the ocean lapping at the desert, although it occurs to me that this is also what happens in the western part of the Sahara. The desert starts with the sea, and doesn't end until the mountains.

Although it is desert, a surprising number of people seem to live there. We pass lots of bird "farms". Covered shelters that seem (from the road) to be full of chickens or ducks. It doesn't look too 'free range', and one actually gets the idea that the chickens would probably be happier under their shelter than out in the blazing sun.

The only places that are not desert are the oases that surround each of the rivers that flows down from the Andes to the sea. These are lush valleys growing cotton, olives, grapes (to make the Pisco, and the small amount of Peruvian wine that is actually drinkable - remember, we are at sea level at 14 degrees south latitude; not climate usually regarded with good red wines).

We also pass a community out on a desert plain that appears to be squatted. Lots of sheds - probably hundreds - spaced out in the desert. A big sign declares that this is comunidad campesina. But what would these people be farming? It doesn't even look like chickens, and there's not a vegetal crop in sight. Probably the owner of this land is not very concerned about these squatters.

Finally, after 3-1/2 hours, we arrive at Pisco. It is equally dry, but has a long history as a port town (guano, cotton, brandy) and actually has a small and attractive centre. Our hotel is far from it - near the beach. We are warned not to use the beach as it is polluted and unsafe for tourists. "Use the pool instead, or go to El Chaco", the more touristy beach about 15km away - it is a $3 taxi ride. We took this advice and went to El Chaco for lunch. If the beach was scummy, the restaurants were pleasant, and the food was cheap and delicious (another ceviche).

The reason for the side trip to Pisco was to visit the nearby Islas Ballestas. These islands are effectively a bird sanctuary - they are every bit as sere as the mainland, and, apart from having once supported a guano factory, are completely deserted of humans, leaving them free to support thousands of seabirds (penguins, boobies, gulls, pelicans, etc.) and up to 20,000 sea lions. It's a wonderfully noisy and smelly place. We had a two-hour tour by motorboat that takes you around several of the islands and through some of the natural sea caves. Our daughter was fascinated and spent the whole visit standing at the edge of the ship pointing and calling out to the animals.

We spent a lot of time going to and from Pisco to see the islands. It was worth it, although it was clear that our trip, with several more long bus and train journeys, was going to be pretty taxing. It is hard for a little girl to spend so long cooped up in her parents' arms.

On returning to Lima, we arrived after dark and really only had time, after getting turned around, for dinner in town and a quick stroll. We read in our guidebook about a group of nuns who ran a restaurant in Lima. French nuns. The food was good! And they had a nice wine list. At 9:00 the nuns stop serving and sing an Ave Maria to guitar accompaniment. Very beautiful. Most of the people cleared out after that, but we had a late start and thus were there until nearly 10:00. The sisters were good entertainment for the baby, or were well-entertained by her in any event. We then had a walk around the busy main square of Lima (Plaza d'Armas) and caught a taxi back to the hotel.

Lima

We arrived in Lima from Sao Paulo on Saturday afternoon, having spent Friday night in Sao Paulo to make sure we would not miss our flight due to a late connection. The flight was about 4-1/2 hours. Our transfer met us as scheduled, and we were taken to our hotel, the Sheraton. It's a decent hotel; a bit tired, but shame about the location.

With the exception of the Sheraton and a few other tall buildings, Lima is a flat city. A guide told us that people in Lima don't trust tall buildings because of the earthquakes. It sounds to me like they don't trust engineers. Lima is a flat city of 9 million souls. Lima suffers from urban sprawl. Nine million people living in a desert city. Fortunately, served by year-round water run-off from the Andes.

We had a tour of Lima that made me realise quite quickly that we had not allowed enough time to really see the place. The old city is Spanish. The architecture leaves you wanting to stroll around and look at the churches and the fine wooden balconies. We had just a short while to visit each of the most important churches (Pizzaro is buried in a special chapel at the cathedral), then a visit to Miraflores, where they thought the best landmark to visit was Larcomar - a big, kind of funky shopping mall on a cliff overlooking the Pacific.

And that was really all the time we had for sightseeing. After dark, we had our first ceviche, then followed on with a dinner at a fine place called Brujas de Cachiche. With the time change we, and especially the baby, were happy for an early night, especially as the alarm was set for 6:00 the next morning.

Peru

Our trip to Peru is finally coming together. We leave this Friday. It's a bit daunting, the number of side trips, especially with the little one. We expect possible problems with food, water and altitude. Plus we are no doubt going to wreck her sleep schedule. Should be an interesting week. Travel budget wise, it will be the highlight of our first year in Brazil.

Travel Plans

We're planning a week's holiday in Peru next month. It's fairly complicated slapping together an itinerary since we're trying to slip a bit off the tourist track to visit a cousin who lives and works there as a medical missionary. We're also hoping to take in Machu Picchu, Cuzco, Lima and Paracas. It looks like a busy week, with a lot of time on the road, but I don't want to stay out longer and you don't get to Peru all that often.

Back from BA

We enjoyed our too-short visit to Buenos Aires, and arrived home to learn that we could have stayed a couple of extra days, which would have been just perfect.

BA has visibly suffered a lot in the 15 months or so since the economy melted down (I could say "went south", but you can't get much further south, and it's not PC and all that, either). The banks are open, but they look ready to batten down the hatches at any moment - doors open through barricade armour, plate glass windows are completely covered, one man is always standing by the door.

The streets are full of graffiti that is particularly welcoming to 'yanquis' and international organisations like the IMF and World Bank. Many businesses have just closed down, including some of those our tourist guides say are worth the effort to visit. There are beggars in the streets, but not as many as I had expected. The streets seem a bit grubby and run down.

Against that backdrop, we did have an enjoyable weekend. BA is not a city of sights; more a city that welcomes you to live in its culture. There is a wonderful cafe (Tortoni) with a long literary history. The seat of the Argentine people is remarkably compact - the cathedral and the Casa Rosada are a short stroll apart. I was surprised at how accessible the Casa Rosada is - a row of low barricades is all that keeps the people out. Maybe this is because the President is seldom in residence there.

We took in a tango show at one of the more famous venues. Very enjoyable, if very staged. Fantastic music and wild, high-kicking and twirling dancing (it's scary to see the stiletto heels pass between the gents' legs).

And the rest of the time we spent walking around, enjoying the atmosphere. It does feel a lot like Paris in places (as it is said to). I was last there in the autumn, and this visit left me with a strong desire to go back (or go to Paris) when the weather cools and the leaves are blowing and a carafe of red wine can take the edge off - a good book, some red wine, the coziness of a cafe. The return call of BA.

I got back to work on Monday and found that Tuesday was to be a holiday. If we had left on Friday instead of Thursday, I could have taken the same one day of vacation and we would have been free to spend all day Sunday hanging out around the antiques market in San Telmo, which could have been the highlight of the weekend if we had had more than an hour for a quick tour around and a slug of strong coffee.

BA felt very much like a place that was striving to hold itself together, and it seems that the common bonds of culture are what will probably allow this to happen, even if the economy is still a long way from full recovery. You can't imagine a place that feels as together as BA allowing itself to carry on down the tank for too long.

Imagining Argentina

We are off to Buenos Aires for the weekend. I was last there in 1991, and I imagine things are very different today. When I was last there, the austral (as it was then) had just been pegged to the dollar (at a rate of A$10,000:1). It was the first time I ever had a million of any currency. Of course, that was all of US$100. Yet there was a sense of emergence from spiraling inflation and crisis. There was little talk of economic chaos. People were enjoying life.

In the decade since, Argentina has sold off its patrimony (airline, oil company, telecoms), chasing a financial policy that was only sustainable if they had used the money to stabilise and modernise their economy. It was a big gamble that failed spectacularly. What I read today is sobering. Dire poverty and starvation in a land of plenty. Some green shoots, perhaps. Small signs of hope in the ruins of promises laid low by political incompetence and toeing the neoliberal line.

Nevertheless, we are going to celebrate. A cheap holiday in other people's misery? I prefer to think of it as a brief look in at the culture, which one prays will endure the hardships. We are celebrating my birthday (36), and our anniversary (3 years). Last year we picked Scotland, returning to the site of our wedding. The year before it was a day-trip to France and a romantic lunch in Boulogne

Confluences

I've finally visited my first confluence. 25S, 49W. I've been itching to get out and use my GPS for the past couple of months, but apart from way-marking my trip to work I haven't had the chance to do anything with it for a while.

Confluence-hunting seems a passion right up my alley. Why do it? Because. Like their FAQ says, there are probably as many reasons as there are hunters. It accomplishes very little, and yet at the same time it calls attention to a fundamental fact - lines on a map only have the meaning that we assign to them. People go out of their way to visit the Four Corners monument in the desert southwest US, but there is nothing more there than a marker noting the juncture of four state lines. Interesting only by convention. And 25S, 49W is a very uninteresting place, in the middle of a logging road in the forest upcountry about 60 km from where we live.

The whole family was with me, although in truth it might have been better if I'd gone it alone. We were 2-1/2 hours late to our main appointment of the day at a convent in a small town nearby.

Lasting observation of the day, as we drove the many kilometers down this road to the confluence point: it is so sad to me that people who live in such richness can be considered poor. We saw farmhouses that were simple, sure, but when I look at that environment, I wonder what more I would need. I thought a lot about what Wendell Berry wrote in Unsettling America, a book with a long afterlife in my mind...the more you see of the wrongs of industrial agriculture, the more you long for the landscape that he is sustaining - the simple life; hard, rewarding work, attached to the land, but at the same time filled with an intellectual richness not erased by the pulling down of fences and the depopulating of the countryside. Is it Luddism to suggest that technology is a destroyer as well as a creator? To suggest that the old way might be better?