Around the World in 180 Days

Day 180. Finis

2008-08-20T14:48:00.000-07:00

Day 180. Finis

All good things must come to an end, and so does this diary of a most remarkable trip. I will cherish forever the joy I experienced visiting with my European families. You have met them all through these pages, so I don’t need to repeat their names, and as I write these words they all stand vividly by my side. My only regret is that I didn’t have a chance to visit my dear friends the Cockiewicz in Poland, or to see the vast expanses of Russia. I guess I will just have to come back in a couple of years.

I also remember fondly the new friends I made in Africa, and the friendly welcome afforded to me by the peoples of Asia. Both continents have transported me to the dreams of my youth, and they were as exotic and intoxicating as I had dreamed reading the stories of Rider Haggard or Salgari, or the exploits of Cheng Ho and James Cook.

For six months I have lived in luxury in some of the richest countries of the world, have despaired at the ravages of tribal warfare, have wonder at the marvels of antiquity, have shared bread with the poorest of the poor, have seen landscapes of incredible beauty, and have sought beauty in the slums of the world. I have lost hope when faced with abject poverty and disease in some African countries, and have regained hope by witnessing the solid steps that are being taken by other African countries. I have admired Utopia in parts of Asia—and shuddered at its draconian control over people—and have reveled in the happy disorganization of other parts of Asia.

I have seen with regret the devastating inheritance that the British empire left in Africa and Asia, and the understandable loathing that the peoples of the world have for the new imperial ambitions of the United States. On the other hand, I am glad to report that everyone likes Mexicans, largely due to the stunning success of our telenovelas.

I have listened in rapture at the music of French and Tagalo, German and Swahili, or Hindi and Setswana, and have whetted my appetite for learning one more language (I think I will work on my rudimentary Portugese). From a selfish standpoint I will say that I am happy that English is the lingua franca of our age, but will encourage anyone who asks to learn other languages. They are the gate to wonderful literatures and cultures, not to say anything about the advantage they represent in the modern global economy.

So, what have I gained in this tour of the world?
1. I have put a face (or rather many faces) to the peoples of the world. I have spoken and laughed with them, so they can no longer be just “chinitos”, “güeritos”, or “negritos”. They are now my friends, and an integral part of my worldview.
2. I have strengthened my abhorrence of war and empire. I believe the people have the right to decide their own affairs, and should be able to do so without outside interference. I also believe on the old rule we teach children: Keep your hands to yourself!
3. I have strengthened my belief that the greatest plague of the world is poverty, and that other “evils”, such as environmental degradation or epidemic diseases, are but a consequence. I am energized to do my little bit to fight this plague, through education, water resources development, and fair-price trade.

Yes, it has been a thoroughly satisfying and worthwhile adventure, but now it is time to bring it to a close. May you, my readers, have a chance to do a similar voyage of discovery some time soon.

Finis.

Day 179. Getting everything ready

2008-08-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

Today I arrived in Monclova, to help my sister in law, Mimi, and my brother in finalizing the arrangements for the retirement home of my parents. My Mom, la Ma, walks with help of a walker, so we needed to find a house without stairs, in a nice and safe neighborhood, and close enough to services such as supermarket, pharmacy, and small restaurants. Mimi was absolutely wonderful and prowled the streets of Monclova for just the right place until she found it!

Here is a photo of the front of the new house. Note the solid fence (for safety sake), the parking spot on the right, and the small shaded porch on the left. Sitting at the porch one overlooks, across the street, where the football little league (los Potros de Monclova) holds its afternoon training sessions. One enters the house through a small hall, where two comfortable arm chairs and a small table provide an excellent setting for afternoon card games, and from there into a spacious living-dining room. The kitchen is ample enough and modern, and a breakfast counter connects it with the living-dining room. In the back of the house there is a small bathroom and the two bedrooms. Finally, there is an outdoors corridor that connects the front yard with a back yard that is well appointed for barbecueing. Everything is flat and accessible to my Mom’s walker, the colonia is nice and with all the needed comforts, and it is just 10 minutes by car from the house of Mimi and Armando! The kennel is all of 20 minutes away by car, so it will be an easy commute for my Dad.

As you can well imagine, the main reason for the move is so my parents are close to my brother and his family. This includes Mimi and Armando 2; grandson Renan, his wife Sandra, and great-grandson Angelito, occasional visits from Monterrey by grandson Armando 3, his wife Moni, and great-grandson Armando 4; and the staff of my brother’s house, all of who are quite fond of my parents. A great improvement over living alone in the crazy hussle and bussle of Mexico City!

Reflecting on the big life change they are undertaking, I note that both my parents are in their 80’s, I am 55, and my daughter is 30. That means that in 25 years I will be 80 and my daughter will be 55. I think I will choose that moment to leave my bachelor’s life, and will have Faby move me into an apartment in Chico, so I can be close to her, DJ, and my granddaughters. That means that she will need to clean my house not only of the thousands of books I have accumulated (and will continue to accumulate), but also of all the junk she left behind in her younger packrat years. Fitting poetic justice, don’t you think?

Day 178. Getting ready to migrate

2008-08-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

I may have mentioned that one of the main reasons I came to Mexico for was to help clean my parents’ house and pack their books (which will eventually find their way to my library). Indeed, after 45 years my parents are getting ready to move to Monclova, in northern Mexico, to live close to my brother and his family. My Dad, el Papo, retired in 1984 from a long and distinguished career as head of the accounting department of General Electric, but finding he still had much to offer in terms of energy and experience he worked since then as a consultant for Black and Decker de Mexico. Unfortunately he had a bad encounter with the shingles three years ago (en vejez viruelas!) and now, at the ripe age of 83, finds that going to work is no longer as fun as it used to be.

So, come October 9 el Papo will officially finish his work as a consultant, and on October 11 he and la Ma will take the plane to Monterrey, where my brother will pick them up to bring them to Monclova. And then will start yet a new life for them: It is well known that retirees who stop suddenly have the danger of becoming depressed. My parents enjoy playing cards and other parlor games, but my brother thought that would not be enough to keep my Dad engaged and sharp, so he has offered him the position of General Manager in the kennel my brother has built up over the last 5 years.

My brother breeds Rotweilers and German Shepherds, but so far the business has been barely breaking even for lack of constant attention (my brother is the Technical Director of a huge steel mill, so the kennel is really an expensive hobby). My Dad’s job will be to go to the kennel early every morning, to supervise the cleaning and feeding of the animals and to work for a couple of hours contacting clients and keeping the records. He can then go back home around 10 am for lunch, games, and a good siesta (Monclova is very hot during the noon hours). Finally, he can go back to the kennel from say 5 to 8 pm, to supervise training sessions and the evening maintenance tasks. My father has always loved dogs, so we are all excited at what we think will be an interesting and fun retirement project!

Day 177. La Ciudad de los Palacios

2008-08-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

The Mexicas built their capital, Mexico Tenochtitlan, on and around the islet of Lake Texcoco using a combination of floating dirt rafts for cultivation (chinampas) and elevated causeways to communicate with the lake shore. Bernal Diaz del Castillo, remembering his first look of Tenochtitlan in 1519, described it as a city larger and more beautiful than the city of Sevilla. After the Spanish conquest was consolidated in 1521 the Spaniards destroyed Tenochtitlan and built over its ruins Mexico City. For the longest time it was believed that the Spanish cathedral stood over the main Mexica temple, but the excavations made for the Metro in the 1970’s (a fabulous piece of engineering and the best Metro in the world) found the remains of the main temple at one side of the Catedral, and since then several exploration campaigns have uncovered the core of the temple and collected many sculptures and artifacts now housed onsite in another of Mexico’s wonderful museums.

I spent the day looking at the site and the museums, and wandering through the streets of old Mexico. To start with Tenochtitlan, here are pictures of a model of the ceremonial center, and the layered structure of the main temple.

a couple of pictures of the site

and of some of the sculptures housed in the museum (the second one is one of the many representations of Tlaloc, the God of Rain and one of the most important gods of the Mesoamerican pantheon).

One of the most important pieces in the museum, here restored to its original colors, is the monolith that represents the dismembered body of Coyolxauhqui. According to Mexica mythology, this goddess conspired with her 100 brothers against their mother, when she found that she was pregnant. The newborn was Huitzilopochtli, the God of War, who came out of the womb fully grown as a warrior. He killed his 100 brothers, dismembered his treacherous sister, and became the main god of the Mexicas. (The third important god was Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent).

At the end of the 16th century Alexander Von Humboldt visited Mexico City, and enthusiastically dubbed it la Ciudad de los Palacios for its magnificent architecture.

My Mom was worried about my safety while visiting the city, which admittedly is not very safe, but all I found were families having a nice day out in the central park (la Alameda), visiting the Museum of Popular Arts, and overall having a great old time :)

Day 176 (Sunday August 3). Ancient Mexico

2008-08-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

Mexico has the finest archaeological museum in the world, which easily transports you through 7,000 years of ancient civilization. Let me see if I can put a small summary in order:

5,000 to 1,500 BC we have the Formative period, when small cultural groups became sedentary to domesticate plants such as corn, squash, beans and chile. At some point they became quite sophisticated, and built dams and extensive canal systems to irrigate their crops. This is a photo of the El Purrón dam, in Tehuacan, Puebla, built and operated nearly 4,000 years ago.

1,500 to 500 BC we have the pre-Classic period, when the first integrated “culture” developed along the Gulf coast. We refer to them as the Olmecs. Their architecture was not quite as monumental as that of later times, but their social and religious organization influenced all later cultures. It is because of this that the Olmecs are sometimes referred as the Mother Culture of Mesoamerica.

500 BC to 750 AD we have the Classic period, defined by the rise and fall of the Teotihuacan empire. The Teotihuacans built an enormous commercial empire, and opened trade routes from northern Aridoamerica all the way to South America. The main route, however, went from western Mexico to the eastern edge of the Mexican altiplano (where they had a very strong outpost or trading partner until recently unidentified), down to the Gulf Coast, and from there down the coast to Central America, with an important branch to trade with the Zapotecs of Oaxaca. In Central America they traded with the Classic Mayas, who were divided in a number of small city states. The Theotihuacans exchanged pottery and obsidian, the volcanic glass that is so abundant in the central Mexican altiplano, with southern products such as fruits, feathers, and jade and gold ornaments. In my humble opinion, Teotihuacan was the greatest exponent of Mesoamerican civilization: they built the greatest city of ancient times near the shores of lake Texcoco, which at some point may have hosted a population of over 100,000 people and any number of traders, and they relied on the benefits of common trade to keep the empire together, rather than by military force. And then, quite suddenly in 750 AD, the Teotihuacans abandoned their city and disbanded to give way to the post-Classic period. Why was the city abandoned remains one of the unsolved mysteries of antiquity, and your guess is as good as mine. The monuments and streets of the ancient city lingered untouched for centuries, and when the Aztecs (or Mexicas to give them their proper name) arrived in central Mexico toward 1250 AD, they marvelled in awe at what they believed to be the place where the gods had been born (it is them that gave the city the name of Teotihuacan, which literally means “the place where the gods are born”). To give you a feeling for what they might have seen, here is how Velasco saw the city at the end of the 19th century, together with a modern view.

750 AD to 1250 AD we have the post-Classic period. Three things happened after the sudden abandonment of Teotihuacan: First, the Classic Mayas also abandoned their jungle cities and moved into the Yucatan Peninsula, to build more city states such as Chichen Itza and Uxmal (although exciting as a cultural group, the Mayas never got their act together as an integrated empire). Second, the wonderful artisans of Teotihuacan dispersed through Mesoamerica, further spreading their former culture through small city states such as Tula and Azcapotzalco. Third, the mysterious eastern partner of Teotihuacan took over the trade route that connected the Altiplano with the Gulf Coast and Central America. To talk further about this mysterious partner I must go back 25 years, when I was doing geologic fieldwork at the volcanic center of Los Humeros, at the very edge of the eastern Mexican Altiplano: I was doing geologic mapping of a huge area, as part of a geothermal exploration project, when I discovered a large rhyolitic dome with a thick obsidian carapace. The surrounding area was littered with hundreds of manufactured obsidian cores and blades, which showed that it had been mined for a long period of time. Chemical analysis of the geologic samples showed that it was the source of the so-called “Unknown Source D” archeological artifacts that are found in many Mesoamerican sites. About 5 kilometers away, in a “mal pais” formed by extensive andesitic lava flows from the same volcanic center I found the remains of walls and small pyramids. Curious, I started mapping the site and found the remains of an enormous urban complex with extensive causeways, courts, small pyramids, and ball game courts. A cursory analysis of the pottery suggested that the site had been continuously occupied since the pre-Classic, had reached its high point during the post-Classic, and had remained occupied until the arrival of the Spaniards in 1519 AD (I found a reference to it in one of the letters Cortés sent to the Spanish court). I believe that this site, named Caltonac or Cantonac, was the mysterious eastern trading partner of the Teotihuacan empire! I published the results of my work in 1984 in the Journal of Field Archaeology, and thus triggered an intense stage of work by Mexican archaeologists, who in the following 10 years excavated and consolidated 1% of the area of the city and confirmed many of my conclusions. It was one of my finest pieces of work!

1250 to 1521 AD we have the Mexica or Aztec period, which encompasses the rags-to-riches history of a band of ragamuffins from western Mexico. The codices tell us that the Mexicas left western Mexico around 1100 AD, and that for three cycles of 52 years wandered through central Mexico, offering their services as mercenary soldiers to the different city states. Finally, at the end of the third cycle, they got tired of being pushed from one place to another, established themselves in a small islet in the Lake of Texcoco, and from there conquered the surrounding city states and eventually all of Mesoamerica. But this is a story for a different day.

Day 175. La Familia Ferriz

2008-08-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

Old photographs, visits with the family, and the arrival of my sister give me a good reason to introduce to you the Familia Ferriz. To start by the one dearly remembered of whom I have no photograph handy, I will tell you that my maternal grandmother, Guillermina, was a plump and no-nonsense lady with whom I crossed swords more than once (or rather, she was wielding a broom while I tried to defend myself with a cooking spoon—I was a rather trying child). Mi Abuelita Mina had three children, Guillermina 2, Norma, and Othon.

My parental grandparents were Alfonso and Catalina, in this photo with their three oldest children Alfonso 2, Armando, and Carlos. My grandma died when I was 10 years old, but my grandfather lived to the ripe age of 92 years, and everyone says that I inherited his love for mountaineering, adventure, and misleading others into accompanying him in death marches. He taught me a very valuable lesson: No matter how tired you are, as soon as a camera comes out stand erect and smile; all others will look like whimps to posterity.

In the following photo you can see my Dad when he was a little kid!

Norma and Armando met while working for Palmolive, which was well known for two products: Hand soap and marriages. Indeed, my Dad fell in love with his pretty secretary, and married her in 1950. They had three children, Armando 2, Horacio (yours truly), and Norma 2.

Armando 2 married Noemí, and they in turn had two boys, Renan and Armando 3. Renan married Sandra and they have one son, Angelito. As you can see in the photograph he is a lively little devil who adores his grandparents.

Armando 3 married Monica and they also have one son, Armando 4, who you saw yesterday. In this trip I was able to squeeze a visit to them, in Monclova and Monterrey, to enjoy their warm hospitality. Here is a photo of Armandito 4 together with his grandparents, Noemí and Armando 2.

Norma 2 met Evan in a rafting trip down the Colorado, and after their marriage they have made their home in Napa Valley, California. Both of them are health nuts, bio, and crazy about extreme sports. My little sis is very lively and adventurous, and it is rare to see her without a huge smile.

In addition there were a lot of uncles, aunts, and cousins, here seen around my grandparents 50 years ago. I am the second from the right, in the front, and was grumpy because I had to be still for the photo (in modern terms I would have been described as a super-hyperactive kid). My brother is to my left. My Mom is the second from the right in the middle row, and my Dad is the second from the right in the back row.

Over the last three days I have been lucky enough to visit with some of my favorite relatives. Let’s start with my Tía Reina, the cousin of my Dad, who is the happiest person on Earth. She lives near my parents, and when we were kids we used to visit with her and her family almost every week, to sing along, tell jokes (she told the jokes), and laugh like crazy (we did the laughing). My Tía Reina is the baptism Godmother of my daughter Fabiola, who always referred to her as “my Fairy Godmother”. In the photo, from left to right, are my Dad, my Tía, and my Mom.

Another big favorite is my Tío Poncho, the older brother of my Dad, who at 85 years of age is as strong and dynamic as a young man. He was my idol as an engineer, and always seemed to be thinking on something new to research or invent. Even now, he has interested himself with the process of aging, and is conducting experiments with mice (much to the distress of my girl cousins) about the effects of different compounds on longevity (he is a Chemical Engineer). My Tío Poncho is also a gifted chess player and teacher, who in many occasions has been National Chess Champion (you know, the kind of guy who can play with 30 other players simultaneously by walking around the room, beating most of them). In the photos you see him with my Dad (the original hermanitos Ferriz) inside of his Chess School.

We also gathered for a festive dinner at the house of my Tía Marisa, together with my Tía Nevia three of my cousins, and a dozen of nephews and nieces. It was a typical Mexican gathering, with everyone talking at the same time and laughing a lot. I am glad to be able to say that we are the type of family that enjoys being together!

Day 174. México, creo en ti

2008-08-12T11:26:00.001-07:00

México, creo en ti, porque nací de tí,
como la flama es compendio del fuego y de la brasa,
porque me puse a meditar que existes,
en el sueño y materia que me forman,
y en el delirio de escalar montañas.

I spent a good time of the day cleaning my parents’ house of the junk that we three children had left behind in the course of our travels. Mercifully I found a stack of old photos and that gave me a perfect excuse to avoid cleaning duty. Among them were assorted photos that I took when I traveled throughout Mexico as a backpacker in my misguided youth.

I remember, for example, the stark beauty of northern Mexico, with its vast deserts, alpine mountain ranges, and eerie coasts. The Baja California Peninsula is one of the most desolate places I have ever been, but there are few views more exhilarating than that first look of the Mar de Cortes, with its incredibly blue waters lapping unto the harsh peninsular desert. I understand that Mexico is now investing a lot of money in enhancing or creating 18 “stops” along both coasts of the Gulf, to promote tourism, marinas for sailboats, and ports of call for big cruise ships. I think it is a good idea, both to share with others its beauty and to inject a shot of prosperity to the region.

Another unique area of northern Mexico is the Sierra Madre Occidental, an almost impenetrable volcanic mountain range that separates the western coastal region from the central altiplano. You may have heard of the famous train ride from Chihuahua to the Pacific, through El Cañon del Cobre. Alas, I have never taken this train ride, but once I took a rural bus from Parral to the heart of the Tarahumara region, in the heart of the Sierra, to visit the even more remote and impressive Cañon de la Sinforosa, which in extent and beauty sees eye to eye with the Grand Canyon. It was a beautiful but hellish trip, and I still wonder how that rickety bus managed the almost inexistent trail. Many years later I worked as a geologist in the Sierra Madre Occidental, prospecting for uranium for CFE (Mexico’s Power Company), and had the opportunity of discovering many other fabulous (and scary) scenic spots in this province, which is a treasure trove of natural resources for modern Mexico.

Moving farther east, but still in northern Mexico, I must make a stop in the Sierra Madre Oriental, Mexico’s eastern cordillera, and its power hub, the city of Monterrey. To start with the geology, the Sierra Madre Oriental is a folded mountain belt, dominated by Mesozoic carbonate sequences. When I was a geology student in UNAM, Mexico’s National University, we had the contract of doing quadrangle mapping for PEMEX, Mexico’s Petroleum Company. Nobody in PEMEX had much confidence on the work of a bunch of whippersnappers, but we proved that many eyes could find things that their own exploration teams could not. I remember, painfully, the many injuries inflicted by the sharp thorns of the desert plants in the calves of innocent geology students. Monterrey, la Ciudad de las Montañas, holds many dear memories for me and my family. We lived there when I was a little kid (3 to 7 years old), so I have very fuzzy early memories of running amok in the very arid hills that seemed to start at our backyard (more than once me and my brother were at the brink of dehydration!). I came back to Monterrey many years later, again as a student of geology, to stare in awe at the magnificent folds that form the Cañon de la Huasteca. Another memory belongs to my daughter Faby and her husband DJ, who spent together five happy years in Monterrey, where she completed her doctorate in Veterinary Medicine. Finally, I will mention that my brother and his family have made their life in the nearby city of Monclova, and that my nephew Armando, his wife Monica, and their 9-month old son Armandito call Monterrey home. Isn’t he a darn cute baby?

Central Mexico is a land blessed by the good God, from its beautiful western coast (I will put my money on Puerto Vallarta over any other coastal resort in the world), through its beautiful central altiplano, to the spicy and lively eastern coast (Veracruz is still the most popular destination for national tourists). The altiplano is host to some of Mexico’s most beautiful cities including, from west to east, Guadalajara, Aguascalientes, Guanajuato, Queretaro, and Puebla, to say nothing of la Ciudad de los Palacios—our crazy but always interesting Mexico City. Central Mexico is a volcanic heartland, and it was here that I cut my teeth as a mountaineer and geologist climbing the beautiful volcanoes of Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl, to name but the two most famous. The photo is from a 19th century painting by Mexico’s foremost landscape artist, José María Velasco, who found much inspiration in these volcanoes.

I could go on for pages dreaming about my early travels through Mexico, but I will close this entry with two final thoughts. First, southern Mexico is a world of its own, with impenetrable and misty jungles, ancient temples, rugged mountains, dreamy coasts, and fabulous people. Second, don’t take my word for it; come and see this wonderland by yourself!

Day 173. Home, Sweet Home

2008-08-11T08:19:00.001-07:00

It has taken me forever to finish the last few entries in this diary. On one hand it is the effect of being in my childhood home, which is full of clutter and memories. On the other hand, everything is so familiar that it is hard to find the little quirks that make travel so interesting. For once life is easy, so I don’t have to struggle when I go to the store or the bank.

My parents, Ma y Papo as we have called them since childhood, live in a futuristic urbanization north of Mexico City called Ciudad Satélite. We moved here 48 years ago, when a new concept on planned communities was being promoted by a visionary land developer.

We started by renting one of the very few houses that had been built. Three years later they had the current house built, again one of the very few in our block, and for the last 45 years have seen the city go from the enclave of a few hardy pioneers who were willing to live in the sticks, to a booming fashionable neighborhood of young professional couples, the playground of juniors with fancy cars, and now almost a senior citizen community (property values have increased considerably, so no young couples can afford to buy a house in what is now one of the most desirable communities).

Living in Ciudad Satélite was quite an adventure, because there were very few bus lines, so the pioneer families were very isolated. I remember crossing through empty fields to go the park or the supermarket (but we had lots of beautiful parks and the first true supermarket in Mexico), and my mother had to make a long bus excursion to pick us up from school (my Dad drove us to school in Mexico City early in the morning all the way through Junior High School). We children adored our bicycles, and had hundreds of miles of track in the built—but almost empty—streets of the early city. Later, when I attended High School and University, I left home around 5:30 in the morning, to hitch a ride at the main highway and try to make it to my first class at 7:00 am. It is from this time that I developed the habit of waking early in the morning.

Alas, all has changed now. The city is fully built, and is a hub of commerce for the whole region. Traffic flow is excellent, due to the fabulous planning of the original developers, but the parking lots of the mega malls are packed with cars. Shopping is a beloved activity by residents and visitors, who in very Mexican fashion dress up to enjoy the window shopping experience. My mother cynically tells me that the biggest money makers are the pharmacies, who cater to the many requirements of an aging population (every Mexican is a born doctor, and generously dispenses advice about this or that wonder medicine for whatever ails you, and since Tia Rosita is much more trustworthy than that young whippersnapper of a doctor in the clinic, the consumption of medicines reaches stratospheric proportions).

And how to resist the food? We Mexicans have an inbred fear that we will starve to death, so we live with the constant preoccupation about what we will have to eat at the next meal. That means that my parents stocked up with my favorite foods and munchies (cactus, mushrooms, anchovies, oysters, lamb, pork, fruit, etc.), and that as soon as we finished breakfast we had to tackle the serious issue of what would there be for lunch, and immediately after lunch we had to start thinking about dinner. The highlight of this eating extravaganza was the rare finding of “huauzontles” in the supermarket. This is an edible weed, which looks like any old weed but ends in a thick cluster of small buds. I think it is harvested before the buds bloom. To prepare them you strip off the leaves, steam the stems and clusters for a few minutes with onion and spices, bundle several of the clusters around some cheese, and tie the bundle together with a length of very thin string. The bundles are rolled in flower, submerged in egg batter, and fried lightly. Finally, the bundles are cooked in a spiced tomato sauce for a few minutes, and voila! To eat them you cut the string with sharp scissors, peel off one of the sticks, and with your teeth strip off the buds in an elegant and flowing motion. De-le-cious!

Day 172. Airport stories

2008-08-11T08:13:00.000-07:00

Rats! The flight from Honolulu was terribly delayed because of a mechanical malfunction. It was a movie like takeoff in which, at the last moment, the turbines were cutoff and the plane returned to the gate. Long wait and at the end they had to move all the passengers to a new plane. The result was that most people missed their connecting flights and I burnt out the precious hours I was planning to spend with my daughter. I did see Faby, for about one hour, before boarding the plane to Mexico City.

She surprised me with her very short hairdo, and she brought me up to date on the comings and goings of herself, DJ her husband, the three canines (Angelik, Girl, and Scarlett), and the three cats (Gato 1, Gato 2, and Gato 3). I am glad to report that everyone is doing well, but I have been forewarned that Girl, my Golden Lab, is a pig that wolves down the food from all three bowls, so I need to put her on a diet as soon as I get back.

The flight to Mexico City was uneventful (but I really don’t like flying with United, which treats passengers like cattle, in stark contrast with the royal treatment lavished by Malaysian or Philippines Airlines). The Mexico City airport is beautiful and enormous, but there are three exit doors, and one can never be certain which one will be assigned to your flight. In my case it didn’t matter, because nobody was expecting me, so I darted out of the crowd (have you noticed the infuriating custom of some people to stop precisely at the door to wave to their families?) and was ready to disappear when I heard someone calling my name. It was my Mom! She and my Dad had been waiting for nearly 5 hours at the airport, scanning all arriving flights from San Francisco, eager to welcome their wayward son. My Mom was at one of the arrival gates, my Dad at another, and the third one was left to God the Almighty. Both of them had eyes teary from the strain of scanning the faces of hundreds of passengers, but it was a joyful reunion nonetheless :)

Day 171. Back to Hilo and on the way to Mexico

2008-08-04T05:16:00.000-07:00

An excellent idea to rent a cabin! It rained all night, and pretty hard, but I was as dry and warm as ein Kucheltier. I did linger at breakfast, not sure I wanted to spend the day driving under the rain, but my flight did not leave until 4 pm, and I felt guilty wasting half a day that could otherwise be devoted to seeing something new.

So I went down to Hilo, with the intention of finding the charm that so many tourists find in Hawaii. Fortunately the sun made its appearance, so I was treated to the brilliant green of the east coast, its rivers, and the occasional waterfall.

Hilo is a quaint town, and in the 1930’s was the in place to visit. And then it was hammered by a couple of tsunamis, which did much damage because of the funnel-shape of the bay, and the relatively flat profile of the shore. Since then tsunamis have been very much in the conscience of the city inhabitants, who give me the impression to be ready to pickup and go at a moment’s notice. They have a very nice, albeit small, Tsunami Museum, and the old town is still formed by rickety wood buildings of post-1975 vintage. But it is a quaint town, with lots of artsy people and beach bums, reminiscent in some ways of Key West or Isla Mujeres.

Finally the time came to take my commuter flight to Honolulu, and in about an hour I will be boarding the flight to San Francisco. I will have a 5 hour layover in San Francisco and then will continue forward to Mexico. I look forward to seeing Faby at the San Francisco airport, but have mixed feelings about this layover. Since I have come back to the Bay Area, does this mean that I have indeed completed my tour around the world?

Then again, Mexico is a beautiful country well worth writing about. I think I will keep this journal going until Day 180. It would be a pity to stop being so close to the goal I had set for myself.

Day 170. Kilauea Iki

2008-08-04T05:06:00.000-07:00

Hmm, the day looks threatening. Maybe I should concentrate on nearby trails.

Fortunately there were a few very interesting things to look at near Park Headquarters. First and foremost is the Kilauea caldera itself. A caldera is a depression formed by the caving in of the roof of a magma reservoir. In other words, it is a huge hole in the ground, much larger than any crater. In the 1920’s the Kilauea caldera was flooded with magma, and literally looked like a cauldron from hell. But eruptions in the caldera are rare in comparison with eruptions along one of the two rift zones. I could thus consider myself lucky in that a vent opened at the side of the caldera early in the year, and although no magma has erupted, the vent is disgorging massive amounts of steam. Pretty cool!

At the far east side of the caldera is a large crater, Kilauea Iki, which saw a renewed phase of activity in 1959. In a matter of a few weeks a large volume of lava was erupted, and the old crater filled with yet another lava lake. The level of the lava lake rose and fell as the eruption proceeded, and at the end filled the 800-foot deep crater with nearly 400 ft of lava (leaving behind a neat “bathtub ring” that is nearly 50 ft high). The trail runs along the rim of the crater, passes near a cool lava tube (outside the crater), and finally descends into the now solidified lava lake. Weird to think that you are walking over what used to be a vast inferno as only Dante could have imagined.

No sooner had I returned to the car that the clouds burst into irregular showers. I hung around for an hour or so, and then went looking for drier climates toward the southeast. This time I followed the crest of one of the “pali”, and was gratifyingly rewarded by a rainbow over the lowlands.
Tomorrow I need to take the flight to San Francisco and then Mexico, so I think I will treat myself to a dry cabin, instead of braving the elements in my little tent (which so far has been wonderful and water tight).

Day 169 (Sunday July 27). The Puna Coast

2008-08-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the southeast side of the island, on what is called the Puna Coast. On the distance I had some nice views of huge steam clouds at both Pu’u O’o (the vent along the side of Kilauea) and Kalapana (where the lava is entering the ocean).

The highlight of the day was going over the series of fault scarps, or pali, that are the crown scarps of gigantic slide blocks that have downdropped the southeastern flank of Kilauea volcano into the ocean. This sliding must have happened several thousands of years ago (maybe 25,000 years ago?), because the scarps are mantled or draped over by innumerable lava flows.

A repeat of such landsliding would be of great concern to all the inhabitants of the Pacific rim, because the sudden volume change in the ocean basin would almost certainly trigger a train of devastating tsunami waves. One could regard it as Hawaii’s revenge on all those tsunami waves that have battered it from the Aleutians, Japan, and Chile. Before crying doomsday, however, one should keep in mind that the southeast flank of Kilauea is being buttressed by a growing submarine volcano, Loihi, which currently is still 3,000 ft under sea level. Or could it be the added weight of Loihi that caused the massive landsliding to begin with?

I enjoyed myself enormously looking at the fault scarps, and for once thought that maybe Hawaiian geology is not as boring as I had first imagined.

Down in the plain formed by the lavas that spilled down over the pali is an interesting archaeologic site. For no reason that was obvious to me, this site has been selected by the native Hawaiians as a “family record”. Over generations some families have selected an area, and have carved in the rock small hollows where the umbilical cord of newborns is deposited (I imagine to be eaten by the birds). And since they were there, and probably found time heavy, over the years they added designs and graffiti that now amount to a nice set of petroglyphs.

I finished the day with a visit to the East Rift Zone of Kilauea. I may have mentioned that Hawaiian volcanoes have the shape of an enormous croissant, and that under their immense weight they slowly spread out, tearing themselves apart. These tears, or rift zones, follow the “horns” of the croissant, and it is along them that most eruptions take place. To take the analogy one step further, imagine that you pour warm honey on the horn of a croissant; the honey would flow down at right angles from the length of the croissant, along the steepest slope. This is exactly what lava flows do in Hawaiian volcanoes, so the vent is on the rift zone—like Pu’u O’o—but the lava flow finds the shortest and steepest way to the ocean—like in Kalapana.

Nobody can get to Pu’u O’o without authorization, but I was able to visit its older sister, Mauna Ulu, which fed extensive lava flows in the 1970’s. Despite the 40 years elapsed, the ground around Mauna Ulu is still a desert, the lava flows are barren of all vegetation, and Mauna Ulu itself is surrounded by steam vents. A great place to imagine oneself in a barren moonscape.

Day 168. Captain James Cook

2008-08-01T07:45:00.000-07:00

A rest day seemed like a good idea, so instead of hiking around I took the car and headed to the west of the island, toward Kona. Big in my list was a visit to Kealakekua Bay, to touch historical base with another one of my heroes, Captain James Cook. Cook was the most distinguished sea explorer of the 18th century, and in his three voyages between 1760 and 1779 charted much of the South Atlantic, Australia, the Circum-Antarctic Ocean (but he never reached Antarctica), the South Pacific, and the west coast of North America. Unfortunately, on his third stop in Hawaii he offended the local inhabitants and was killed in Kealakekua Bay. This sad event is commemorated by a small monument in a practically inaccessible portion of the bay, and by the name of a non-descript community of vacation chalets, and I don’t think the locals give it a second thought. Pity.

Kona is supposed to be on the leeside or dry side of the island, but the rain came in torrents as I drove through it. It is not a particularly attractive area, and unless you happen to have a vacation rental there isn’t really much to do here.

On the way back I drove to South Point, dubbed “the southernmost point in the United States”. It is a pretty but wind-swept area of grasslands, dotted with rusting wind mills (leftovers of past attempts to harvest eolian energy).

I took a long walk along the coast, in search of the mythical green sand beach. I couldn’t find it, either because I didn’t walk far enough along the wave-battered cliffs or because wave erosion has carried it away, but I had a good time braving the elements.

Day 167. I climb Mauna Loa

2008-07-31T06:06:00.001-07:00

I had set my heart on spending a day visiting Mauna Loa, the largest mountain on Earth. This enormous volcano rises to 13,700 ft, or about the same altitude as Mt. Kinabalu in Borneo (and we all know how tired I was after climbing Mt. Kinabalu), but to this altitude we must add the portion that is under water, which is about 15,000 ft. In contrast with steep Mt. Kinabalu, the slopes of Mauna Loa are very gradual, which is easy on the knees but makes for a very, very long climb.
No, I didn’t climb all the way to the top. According to the National Park signs it is a three day climb, and one needs to carry full camping gear and supplies.

So instead I decided to spend a day climbing as far as I could, in silent communion with the mighty mountain and its geology. And silent it was on all counts. First, I didn’t see another human being all day long (surprising, really, given that there were plenty of tourists in the park). I did see a family of mongooses (introduced to fight mice many years ago and now one of the two top predators in the island; the other being feral cats), and plenty of Hawaiian pheasants. Second, the geology is positively boring: one basalt flow after another forming a gigantic pile. At the beginning I was trying to be a serious geologist, stopping from time to time to look for phenocrysts, but most of the flows are aphyric. Finally, after climbing about one third of the total elevation, I found a lava flow with nice olivine crystals and—proof of how bored I was—I romped around like a kid looking for the pretty green crystals. It took quite some time to get down from the mountain, and at the end I was pleasantly tired. Maybe it was not one of the most exciting days, but I am glad to have visited this mighty mountain.

Day 166. Arriving in the Big Island

2008-07-31T05:56:00.000-07:00

I got to Hilo by mid-morning, and after the usual ritual to rent a car I was ready to start my Big Island adventure. Hawaii deserves its name as the Big Island in that it is bigger than all the other islands put together. The first stop was at the local Goodwill store, to buy the necessary pots and pans for five days of camping. Next came Sears to buy a gas camp stove, and the local supermarket to buy provisions. Since I was in Hawaii I made sure to buy Spam and Dole pineapples for breakfast.
Having secured the basics I headed to the southeast, toward the Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. But maybe I should quickly sketch the geography of the island: Hilo is in the east, Kilauea volcano is in the southeast, Mauna Loa volcano extends from the center to the south of the island, and Kona is to the west. The beautiful people live in the north, in the Kohala area. Also in the north is Mauna Kea volcano, which I didn’t visit.
The Hawaii Volcanoes National Park is the best deal in the archipelago, with a $10 fee for a seven day visit, and free campgrounds. I took full advantage of the Namakanipaio campground, which features warm showers for a modest fee of $3 per day.

After setting camp I drove down to the southeast coast, to see the Kalapana area, where for the last 30 years lava flows originating in Pu’u O’o have entered the sea. The county keeps an eye on reckless tourists, so one cannot get too close, but it is nonetheless a fabulous spectacle to see the column of steam that rises from the seacliff, and the occasional blast of tephra and steam.
On the way back I made a twilight stop in the Lava Trees State Park, where a whole forest was fossilized 100 years ago by a lava flow. Normally one sees “trees” in lava flows as holes, left after the wood burns out, but at this place the “trees” are marked by columns of basalt spatter. A nice way to end the day.

Day 165. Laziness

2008-07-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

I must be jet lagged, because I managed to sleep until 9 am, and moved slowly all morning long. Finally around noon I went for a swim in the ocean, came back to my apartment to read, and had one more swim in the afternoon. In short, I was lazy all day. Tomorrow morning I fly to the big island, where I hope to have a lot more activity walking through Kilauea and Mauna Loa, so I will chalk down today as a necessary rest day before the exertions of next week.

Day 164 (Tuesday July 22). I arrive in Hawaii

2008-07-22T06:15:00.000-07:00

No, I have not made a mistake in the date. Last night we crossed the International Date Line, and effectively I have gained a day on the rest of you all. I feel young!

So, I landed in Honolulu International Airport, in the island of Oahu, and by 8 am I was on the road, headed for Pearl Harbor. It is indeed a perfect harbor, saddened, however, by the events that pushed the US into war with Japan. I walked around the USS Arizona Memorial (but didn’t wait in line for one hour to take the boat to the memorial itself), and then continued going around the island toward the lee side (the west side). This is the dry side of the island, and I was surprised by the fact that it was a bit shabby. This is where the “native” population lives, in a rather modest way. There are also quite a few people living in patched-up tents along the beach. The inland mountains are pretty, but they are part of a military reservation and thus inaccessible to the public.

I backtracked to Pearl Harbor and from there crossed the island to the north shore. The island of Oahu is surprisingly small, and can be crossed in less than half hour. Way on top is the original location of the Dole Pineapple Farm. The north and eastern shore are green and pretty, but to my surprise they have all the appearance of being the boondocks. I was looking for a small hotel or campground but found none. Apparently tourists are confined to Waikiki (the beach of Honolulu), so to find a hotel I had to conform and go to Waikiki.

From the west I crossed to the south along a fast highway, which is a pity because some of the best photo opportunities were along this highway and I missed them. Rats!

Waikiki is a lively tourist center with all sorts of fancy hotels. I was looking for something modest in terms of price, and landed the last room in the only hotel that could be called modest (still, $100 per night, which is the most expensive lodging I have had in the last four months). The Royal Grove Hotel is a friendly spot, three blocks form the beach, where people lounge chatting around the small pool, and where to my good fortune a group of old friends got together to play some tunes (reminded me a lot of the music afternoons of Phil Rojas and his friends). The music was great, with every member of the group coming with one idea or another. We heard old Hawaiian ballads, beach songs, and even some Hula songs that inspired a couple of the ladies to stand up and dance. A really fun evening :)

Day 163 (Tuesday July 22). I take off for Hawaii

2008-07-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

Oh Lord, I have to cross Manila one more time to get to the airport :(

My flight doesn’t leave until 3 pm, so I have tried to sleep until late, lingered with my morning coffee, and waited until the last possible moment before driving the 50 km to Manila.

But at last I am here at the airport, waiting for the Philippine Airlines plane that will take me to my next destination, the island of Ouahu in Hawaii.

Day 162. Mount Pinatubo and glimpses of Filipino history

2008-07-21T19:13:00.000-07:00

I had planned to spend all day at Mount Pinatubo, which had a big eruption in 1991. Unfortunately the volcano is within the boundaries of a huge military operations area, and it is off limits to all but organized tour groups. I was a bit disappointed, and instead took a driving trip around the mountain massif. I was surprised at what little evidence is left of the effects of the eruption, or of the air-fall tuffs that reportedly blanketed the region. To blame is the heavy rainfall and fast growing vegetation, which together have either washed away or covered the 1991 deposits.

Finally, while driving around the old Clark US Air Force base, I found a ghost town of military housing that was heavily damaged by the eruption. Many roofs had collapsed, so the town was simply abandoned to the ravages of time and vegetation. Pretty eerie.

While at the base I found a small museum, which gave me an interesting glimpse into 20th century Filipino history. At the end of the Spanish-American war, the US “convinced” the Filipinos to accept a commonwealth arrangement, which included arrangements for the US to have a permanent military presence in the Philippines. To start with the US established a small fort, but sometime in the 1930’s it was expanded into an enormous air force base that reserved 100,000 hectares (about 200,000 acres) for its own use. Clark Air Force base was where the Americans surrendered to the Japanese in the early stages of World War 2, where MacArthur returned to as the tide turned on the Japanese, and where Marcos escaped to when his dictatorship was overthrown in the mid 1980’s. And then the eruption of Mount Pinatubo happened in 1991, most of the base personnel was evacuated, and when things quieted down and personnel was expected to return the Filipino congress decided they had had enough of the American occupation of their territory. It was all done through diplomatic channels, and in a very civil way, but as the US tried to negotiate another 25 years of occupation 12 of the 23 Filipino senators put their foot down and rejected the “deal”. I find it interesting that the 1991 eruption had the side effect of ending nearly a century of military occupation.

Day 161 (Sunday July 20). Across the Cordillera

2008-07-20T19:12:00.000-07:00

After dealing with a flat tire, which had at least four nails in it, I started a slow, winding crossing of the Cordillera. The road climbs and climbs until it is lost in the clouds that crown a range, and then drops like a stone to the bottom of a tropical valley, just to start the roller coaster ride over and over again. Yet, I think this has been my favorite day in the highlands. I had to negotiate many landslides, and the going was slow, but I think I saw no more than a dozen of vehicles and the views were absolutely fantastic.

Around noon I arrived to the mountain city of Baguio, which would be my choice if I were to live in the Philippines. It is fairly large and lively, but it is set among the pine trees and has a deliciously cool climate. The city grew mostly after the US occupied the Philippines at the conclusion of the Spanish-American war in the 1890’s, as a summer retreat for officers and their families. Later, during World War 2, the Japanese developed it further, again because of its cool and healthy climate. Today it is a favorite destination of Filipino families, who come for the weekend to escape the oppressing heat of the lowlands. Today is Sunday, so the central park was packed with families having picnics, taking a walk, rowing a boat in the lake, or eating steamed corn. It reminded me a lot of Mexico’s lively Chapultepec park.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, which for me meant going back to the steaming lowlands and their snail-paced traffic. To add to the road grief, the rice harvest is upon us, and the farmers think that the highway is a perfect surface to dry the grain. So they spread the rice over one lane of the highway for maybe 50 m, so traffic must take turns to pass these blockades. Still, it is good to see that they had a good harvest. Speaking of rice, people here are aflame because the price of rice went from 18 pesos (about $0.50) for five pounds in May, to 32 pesos for five pounds in July. This is, of course, the unavoidable consequence of the increase in gasoline prices, since the trucks that transport the rice are just passing the price along to the consumers. Makes me think that I have come to Philippines at a unique time. On one hand gasoline is outrageously expensive given the general level of earnings of the people (about $4 per gallon, when many people earn less than $1,000 per month). On the other, the prices are just beginning to reflect the increased cost of transport, so you can still get a good meal for less than $2. I forecast, with great regret, that over the next few months prices are going to skyrocket, and that Philippines will no longer be an inexpensive tourist destination (not to say anything of the loss of acquisition power of the Filipinos, many of whom already live in poverty).

Day 160. The Luzon Highlands

2008-07-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

Ah, the Highlands. They are so different from the flat lands. For one, the number of vehicles on the road is much lower, so you don’t have the exasperating traffic problems I encountered yesterday. In addition, the temperature is lower, the breeze flows, and the scenery is spectacular.

I spent the day around the small town of Banaue, in the province of Ifugao. The early inhabitants of this area were much feared head hunters, but also fearless rice farmers who 2,000 years ago built the most amazing set of canals and planting terraces throughout their lofty mountains. These terraces are still in use, and have been recently honored with the designation of World Heritage Site.
The descendants of the old head hunters are a fun, hard working bunch, who like getting together for the big jobs, like the building of a house or the harvest of the rice. To pass along the time as they tackle these tedious tasks they sing, or listen as their mythologic stories are told in sing song by one of their elderly storytellers. From what my informer explained, these stories are memorized by heart, word by word, which is quite a feat considering that some of the stories take hours to be told. Reminds me of the ceremonial stories of the Navajo nation.

I took a very nice walk through one of the “native” villages, which have been lovingly conserved for tourists, but also to celebrate special events, such as the harvest. The main structures are small silos for rice, expansively decorated with wood carvings. In fact, the locals are quite proud of their wood carvings, and even children practice the craft in the construction of small stilts and wood “motorcycles”.

Day 159. Al borde del colapso nervioso

2008-07-18T19:11:00.000-07:00

After saying goodbye to my gracious hostess and her “family” I took the toll expressway north. My driving experience was a little marred by the fact that there was construction going on all the way to Manila. I was happy, however, because the map showed the expressway going through Manila and further 50 km to the north. Alas, it was all fibs. The expressway delivered me right unto a maze of Manila streets, chockfull with traffic. To add to my toils, the streets are not straight, and they figure street names are superfluous. So I had to navigate by compass, slowly working my way through the craziest city on a northwesterly heading.

Two hours later I finally reached the starting point of the northern expressway, or NLZX (this tendency to use codes for freeways is pervasive throughout Malaysia, Singapore, and Philippines, to the despair of the foreigner). It was a driving dream after my struggle through the city, but the fun only lasted for 50 km. At the town called Mexico I took to the smaller roads, and it was here that my Calvary was to start. First, there are practically no road signs telling you where to go, and when there is one it either directs you only to the next small hamlet (rather than major towns that may appear on a map), or it sends you in the wrong direction.
But the real evil of the Philippine roads are the slow moving vehicles. The main offender is a thing that looks like a jeep but has the engine of a lawnmower; this enables it to reach a top speed of 25 km/hour. The second is the ubiquitous tricycles, which are used as taxis and have a top speed of 30 km/hour. Of course there are very few people reckless enough to travel at top speed. Rather, they move in and out of the highway as a cloud of slow drones, so you can be certain that as soon as you pass one another one will s-l-o-w-l-y pull out of nowhere in front of you.
I have always considered myself a considerate driver, respectful of bicycles and motorcycles, but I was not ready to see the way in which cyclists make full use of their rights. None of this nonsense of squeezing themselves along the right side of the road. Oh no. Cyclists here have a force field that defends them from fast moving vehicles, and they pedal s-l-o-w-l-y smack in the middle of the highway, and will not give an inch to a car overtaking an equally slow tricycle in the opposite direction.

Surprisingly, I only saw one minor accident along the way. But then again, I had to overtake at least four funerary processions (moving at snail pace on the highway).

By the time I left the flat lands, after grueling six hours of slow driving, I was at the brink of nervous collapse!

Day 158. Taal volcano

2008-07-17T19:10:00.000-07:00

I am still hurting all over, but this is not going to stop me from exploring the intracaldera complex of Taal. Whimpering slightly I came down the stairs, to meet my smiling host, Mrs. Gloria Castor herself. She is a wonderful lady in her mid 70’s who speaks very good English and seems to have a motherly attitude toward her guests. She sat by my side as I drank coffee, and we had an easy conversation about our respective children. She told me her son and two daughters are all grown up and she doesn’t get to see them that often, so she has “adopted” Vita, Richard and her young wife Monet, and their two children. She was also distraught that I was traveling alone, made me promise I will come back with Faby and DJ, and gave me all sorts of advice about how to avoid tourist scams in the island.

Richard is the designated boat driver, and he took me across the lake to what the locals call “the volcano”. In reality, the island inside the volcano is a complex formed by post-caldera eruptions, including a smaller nested caldera. The boats they use here are really handsome. They seem to be a mix of Venetian gondolas and South Pacific barges (powered by a car engine). Apparently they are a local production, built by a small shipyard on the far side of the island.

So I got to the island, fended off the offers of horse rides and guides, and slowly (and painfully) walked up the path to the rim of the nested caldera. It was a delightful walk, among fumaroles and mango trees, and at the end I beheld one of nature’s most magnificent sights: From the rim I could see a small island, in the middle of a caldera lake, in the middle of a bigger island, in the middle of a larger caldera lake, in the middle of the Taal mountain massif, in the middle of the South China Sea. Nature’s joke at simulating a set of Russian dolls!

I seem to recall that a large set of eruptions took place in the late 1970’s, which gave rise to a series of pyroclastic surges that swept over the surface of the big lake. If memory serves me right Jim Moore wrote and article in Science or Nature about this event, so once again I will give my students the homework of tracking this reference down.

From the nested caldera rim I had fabulous views of the larger caldera, which has the typical scalloped outline caused by landsliding of the original caldera wall. A long walk through the luxurious vegetation took me through many parasitic vents. Composition? Well, I have no idea about the unit whose eruption caused the collapse of the large caldera (all I could see along the walls as I was driving in yesterday were cutoff andesitic tephra units); I will have to see tomorrow if I can find it as I drive away from the caldera. The intracaldera complex is dominated by andesitic tephra, with very few fragments that I would venture to call dacitic. The most mafic thing I saw were some large blocks of pyroxene basaltic andesite.

My long walk also took me through clusters of dwellings, where everyone greeted me warmly and asked me where I was from. As usual, on hearing I was from Mexico people broke into the dialogue of one telenovela or other, and I was expected to give them details about the lives of their favorite actors and actresses. I like the Filipinos!

On the way back to the mainland Richard took me to visit one of the many fish farms in the lake. They are basically nets draped over a floating framework of bamboo, within which tilapia are grown over a period of 5 months before they are harvested. The fish seem to have enormous appetites, and can pack nearly 200 kg of feed per day. In order not to waste the feed, it has to be spread a little at a time over a period of hours. Furthermore, the fish farmer needs to be around for most of the day to make sure that the voracious cranes do not eat the fingerlings.

Speaking of voracious appetites, by the time we came back I was famished. Mrs. Castro outdid herself with a Tilapia Escabeche, which was not only beautiful to behold but also very, very tasty. I am going to miss her cooking as I venture into a new area tomorrow.

Day 157. Flight to the Philippines

2008-07-16T19:09:00.000-07:00

I awoke in absolute pain. Every muscle in my body hurts. In fact, I have discovered aching muscles I didn’t even know I had! Slowly I crawled out of bed, made a very slow car packing, and by 7 am I was driving down the mountain heading for Kota Kinabalu. It was an uneventful trip, except for the simple fact that I pegged the Empty stop in the gas tank just as I was pulling in into the only gas station in a 75 km radius. God does indeed look after fools.

I made it to the airport in good time, and by 1 pm Malaysian Airlines took off to take me to my next destination, Manila. We got there in the middle of a heavy downpour, and I was a bit apprehensive when I heard that it had been raining solid for over a week and the city was over flooded. Not that I was planning to go into Manila itself, but I feared that my stay in the Philippines would be a wet one.

I headed south out of Manila, through heavy and colorful traffic, but not the chaos that I had imagined. Filipino drivers may be a danger in the US, but when everyone plays by the same rules the traffic flows in a mysterious way.

My destination was Lake Taal, a famous geologic landmark. The lake itself is the most perfect caldera one can imagine. From the morphology I would think that the caldera-forming eruption took place less than one million years ago, but I will once again give to my students the homework of looking for information in the internet so we can discuss it when I get back.

My excellent friend Gustav had given me as a parting present Lonely Planet guides to both Malaysia and Philippines, and using the later I was homing in on the small guest house that Gloria Castro runs in Talisay, at the lake shore. I found my destination at dusk, and was warmly received by Mrs. Castro’s two assistants, Vita and Richard. They made sure I was comfortably installed, and Vita hurried to the kitchen to prepare me a fish stew that was perfect to take the edge off the rainy day. Later we sat chatting around a couple of original San Miguel beers, and I learned that Richard is trying to learn English, and Vita is trying to teach it to him. However, I am afraid that the effectiveness of the lessons suffers much form the tendency of both to laugh merrily every time they open their mouths :)

Day 156. Mount Kinabalu (continued)

2008-07-15T23:12:00.000-07:00

I woke at 1:45 am, got dressed, and met my guide at 2 am. We were going to see the sunrise at the summit, and it would take us three and a half hours to get there. I am more tired than I had thought (my legs kept twitching all night long, as if toying with the idea of having cramps, and my knees complain if I twist my leg when stepping up), but the hours spent at 3,000 m seem to have done their trick in acclimatizing me to the high elevation.

Step by step we went up, walking over steep bare rock, and indeed by 5:30 am we reached the summit, together with another 20 enthusiasts (4,060 m altitude). The view was grand, although the sunrise was blurred by the carpet of low-lying clouds that mantled the horizon. My camera decided this was a good time to run out of batteries (argh!), so I didn’t feel obliged to take pictures of every cloud. I could see the coast from here, so now I know how high 13,000 ft look like!

Still, from the couple of photographs I took, you can see that Mt. Kinabalu is indeed an intrusion, which has punched through the sedimentary sequence of northern Borneo. There is a little contact metamorphism, but otherwise little evidence of regional deformation and metamorphism. The intrusion itself has at least two cupolas, and is dominated by a hornblende granodiorite, crisscrossed by very cool dikes of a plagioclase tonalite porphyry. As you can see in the photo, the exfoliation is spectacular.

The question is, what is this lonely pluton doing here? Why is it uplifting? (as indicated by the height of the mountain, the youthful stage of erosion, and the enormous amount of unroofing that must have taken place for us to be able to see the intrusion). I will give to my students the homework to search in the web for info on the geology of Mt. Kinabalu, and we will discuss it when I get back home.

Alas, everything that climbs up must come down, so at about 7 am we started the descent. I can feel my knees complaining, and that dull pain in the ball of my left foot is beginning to be more sharply defined. By 8 am we were back at the lodge, where we had breakfast and a good hour of repose. At 10 am we recommenced our way down. Ouch, ouch. Every step down on the causeway of the giants is causing pain. Talk about a death march. It is beginning to rain, so the ground is becoming slippery. Careful now. Wow . . . thunk! I have slipped and a tree stump has connected solidly with my left ribs. “Are you OK”, asks a fellow hiker. What a question; of course I am not OK, I just fell and am looking like a fool. But of course I smile back and say “Yes, yes, I am fine”. So we keep going down, and by 3:30 pm we finally make it to the trailhead, where my $10 have guaranteed us a place on the bus. The best $10 I have invested in this trip!