A SCARY ARRIVAL

                                                  Scary Arrival

     Most flights to Central and South America arrive in the evening which means one usually arrives in the dark. Before I went to Peru I read that violent crime was very low but in major cities pickpockets and slash-and-run activities were rampant.

    Although securing a taxi inside the Lima airport  was more expensive than outside, it was highly recommended because of safety and reliability factors. Approaching the taxi counter I confirmed the price from the airport to the suburb of Miraflores.

     Our driver clad in a suit and tie spoke almost no English, so I showed him the name of the hotel and address printed on a piece of paper.  Yes, yes he understood.

     Like many places I’ve been, driving Lima is like playing a game of .chicken.  Honking horns are a constant, and thank goodness the cab had good brakes!  Traffic lights were few and everyone ignored the few stop signs.  I had noticed the cab had no dents which was a plus and a bit of a comfort.

     On the edge of the city we rode through barrios where disheveled people, mostly men, stood in groups on street corners smoking and drinking.  I said a silent prayer for no vehicle mishap, an accident or flat tire.

     It was a relief to leave the barrios, but then we were on a paved two lane winding road that appeared to be following the coastline or a body of water.  There were no street lights or any sign of buildings, and it was very dark.

     Were we on the right road?  Would we be robbed, ambushed or worse?  Would we be dumped with no idea where we were and unable to speak the language beyond a little pidgin Spanish?  All kinds of scenarios flashed across my mind.  I was nervous and very quiet on that ride, as was my son in the front seat.

     Suddenly the bright lights of Miraflores appeared.  The area of neat homes and well-kept yards was a welcome sight. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I spotted our hotel. While I was paying the driver, my son off loaded the luggage and before I could turn around, hotel staff had whisked our luggage inside.

     In retrospect, it was probably a very pretty ride in daylight, but in total darkness it was very scary indeed!

CHRISTCHURCH, NEW ZEALAND

                                            A Very English City

     Among the many neat things I did and saw in Christchurch, New Zealand, two unique experiences stand out in my memory.

     One lunch stop was at Mona Vale, a historic mansion perched on the banks of the River Avon. Before lunch we were given a punt ride down the river to a bridge.  A punt is a flat-bottomed long boat wide enough to seat six people two abreast. It is propelled with a long pole by a fellow who stands on the stern, similar to propelling a Venetian gondola. It was a comfortable ride. The fun ride afforded us a chance to view the many mansions  and spectacular gardens along both banks of the river. It was nice to just sit and enjoy the scenery.

     Our formal lunch reminded me of a typical English high tea or a ladies’ lunch. We had smoked salmon, individual quiche, hard boiled eggs and scones. We felt a bit under dressed for the rather formal affair, but we’d not been warned, so our travel clothes just had to do and we just forgot about it. After our leisurely lunch we had plenty of time to  wander the green manicured grounds and flowering gardens, especially the lovely rose garden.

      One evening we walked from the hotel to the corner of the block to catch the restaurant tram. What a unique dining experience!  Similar to  the dining car on a  train, the tram circled the city several times while we enjoyed an excellent lamb meal served with first class service who kept our wine glasses full. The 12 of us were  the only occupants ----our very own dining tram!  It was a different and most enjoyable way to end  a long and exciting day of sightseeing in the most English of New Zealand’s cities.

     With all the English gardens and English street names I had to keep reminding myself that I was Down Under and not in England.

THE DARIEN JUNGLE

                                     Boat Ride Through the Jungle

     In contrast to my trek into the jungle in Raratonga, in Panama I rode up the Sambu River through the Darien jungle in a cayuca (kai-u-coo), a local dug-out canoe.

     My small ship anchored two miles off the mouth of the Sambo river. Cruise ships with deep drafts are unable to reach this point because of the shallow water in the bay to reach the river, as a result most tourists miss this adventure. Plus the stopping point is Chunga, meaning black palm, is a small native village and  cannot handle large crowds.

    It was an early wakeup call and breakfast before loading the cayucas. The Pacific side of the Panama Canal has a 22-foot tide, so to transit the river one must go up river on the incoming tide and out on the ebbing  tide. At high tide there is a 22-feet of water in the river compared to low tide’s six inches!

    The Darien jungle is the boundary line between Columbia and Panama.  Much of the jungle is neither hospitable nor navigable. Choco is the name of a Columbian province as well as the name of a local Panamanian Indian tribe.

     It took over an hour and a half to leisurely navigate the 10-12 miles up the Sambu river through the Darien jungle. In the cool morning it was a most pleasant ride with birds serenading nearly all the way. Plentiful lush greenery grew on both sides of the 200-yard wide river. A few logs floated in the murky water.

      I heard toucans and parrots in the trees, but they were too high  in the canopy to be seen. But I did see pelicans, ibis, egrets, kingfishers, and herons. It was amazing that  bugs were not a problem, nor flies or mosquitoes either!

     The ride down the river a few hours later was a very hot one. Such visits are absolutely determined by the tides. It was a pleasant morning and an extremely interesting  visit which will follow when I talk about people.

AN UNUSUAL AQUARIUM

                 Probably the First of its Kind

     When in Auckland, New Zealand, I visited a most unusual aquarium. Since then I have been in other attractions where one can step on a moving walkway and just look—or get off for further study. But the history of this museum is unique and I bet is one of a kind.

     The whole aquarium is underground housed in old sewage tanks---the same storage tanks that once housed the city’s affluent !  Kelly Tarlton was an imaginative thinker. Once the storage tanks were no longer used he wanted to buy them from the city, but the city would not sell them. Everyone thought Kelly had gone loco.

     Finally after some time and negotiation the city agreed to lease the tanks to Kelly for $1 a year. He agreed, but insisted on a 1000 year lease. Kelly designed, planned  and supervised the building of the aquarium. Tons of junk had to be removed and extensive cleaning done before the construction could even begin.

     One can walk the aquarium or step on a moving walkway, as I chose to do, It was like being in a tunnel with fish all around  and on top of you. There were several varieties of rays swimming overhead and I had never seen the underside of a ray.  Big fish, small fish, all shapes and colors swam up, down and over you.  It was most amazing. Having visited many aquariums over the years this was the most unusual.  When I got to the end of the moving walkway I had to go again and again. My friend waited for me while made the third go around. Then I was satisfied.

      Known as New Zealand’s  Jacques Cousteau, Kelly died in 1985 at age 48, just a few weeks after the aquarium opened. It is said that diving contributed to his premature death.

     I believe this was the first aquarium where tubes of water with swimming fish were attempted. Over the years I have visited two other similar design aquariums in other areas, but above ground.

     In Auckland there was so much going on, to see and digest that claustrophobic me had no problem being underground!