City trips: From the Amazon back home
South America Tour 2013-15 – Part IX
Iquitos - 2 February 2015
In the rainy season, it appears sparsely, but as soon as the sun shows itself, it immediately becomes unbearably hot. You don't even have to move to sweat streaming streams.
Today, however, it is overcast and pleasant. We take a moto-taxi out to the Manati Rescue Center. The ride takes about half an hour. Our driver steers us carefully out of the city traffic, while mild air ruffles our hair. Arriving at the rescue center for freshwater manatees, we sign up for the next tour.
Max, the young Peruvian guide, explains to us exactly why the animals, which weigh up to half a ton, need to be protected. It is always the same in the Amazon: like other animals of the jungle, manatees are hunted to be eaten or sold as pets. Without consideration of the immense losses.
The center is now succeeding in curbing the hunt by informing and educating the people about the abuses. Many manatees have already been successfully cured and released into the wild.
On the tour, we are allowed to pet and even feed the young animals. It is a gripping feeling to touch their rubbery skin and to look into their curious eyes. And how gratifying to know that there are also people here who want to bring about a change in the way we treat animals.
On the way back to town, we sit in a colorful regional bus with no windows and loud music. A dark storm front is rapidly approaching us and soon thick drops are pattering down on the bus. We quickly imitate the locals and push up the windows hidden in the bus wall. A waterfall pours down over Iquitos.
Hopefully, we won't get there just yet, or we'll have to swim back to the hostel! Streams flow along the roadsides.
I look out the window, fascinated by this city in the middle of the rainforest, this so very different world, and wonder when we will see it again.
Lima - 4 February 2015
So far it is a successful day. We found the artisan market and bought the last gifts for the home. We have also exchanged the leftover soles for euros. Now we just have to catch a cab to the airport tomorrow morning.
Not so easy, we have to realize. The official cabs in the old town are cheap, but they have no permission to drive to the airport. We ask one after the other, but none wants to take us.
Crap! Now we have to order an official one, which is twice as expensive. This is getting seriously tight with the few soles we still have.
Oh well, we'll pass on the last dinner. But no cui.
I sleep badly, hoping incessantly that our cab will be at the door in time.
At six o'clock we are standing with bags and baggage in front of the hotel on the still-empty street. The first car that approaches us is a cab.
"Aeropuerto? Sure, get in."
He tells us his ridiculous price. We hesitate only briefly - this is not our cab, can we trust it? - and get in. Shortly after, we arrive at the airport; much too early.
And what were we worried about yesterday and all night? Sometimes you should just ask less and trust more. How easy it is for me to forget.
Bogotá - 5 February 2015
We have about six hours. After landing, we rush onto the bus to the city, where we want to pay Mauricio one last visit before we leave South America.
He is very happy to see us again, although he is very busy with his work and has to attend several Skype conferences. Now and then he clicks off and we can chat a bit.
Then Nat calls already. Hard to believe: our Australian neighbor from Palomino just arrived in Bogotá from the coast this morning, which gives us the chance to go for a drink with him.
It is only a short stop-over on our way from Lima to Barcelona. Nevertheless, we take advantage of it until the last minute.
Just now Nat brought us up to date with news from Palomino and Mauricio told us about his and Vivi's intentions to go to Paris for a year soon and already we are on the plane again. Ten and a half hours to Barcelona.
Barcelona - 11 February 2015
We stand among people from all over the world in front of the entrance of the strangest cathedral I have ever seen.
Like almost everyone here, we wear headphones and concentrate on the voice on tape that guides us from one place to the next.
With our mouths agape, we enter the Sagrada Familia, Barcelona's iconic monument. The sun sends its rays through the colorful church windows. The play of colors inside is enchanting. On one side it burns in red tones like fire, on the other you can almost hear the blue water rushing.
The sea of colors surrounds enormous columns that rise far into the air, chiseled to resemble giant trees. You feel as if you are in an abstract forest. All shapes and structures were taken from nature.
Soft church singing sounds from loudspeakers. I stand spellbound in the mighty nave of the cathedral and try to absorb all the impressions: Colors, sound, shapes, and structures unite into a single whole; a feeling that makes my body vibrate. My hair stands on end. What a masterpiece!
With this, a person has immortalized himself in a very extraordinary way. A work that reaches far from the past into our modern times.
It is hard to believe that Gaudi started to build his cathedral more than 125 years ago and it is still not finished.
Wouldn't it be interesting to visit Barcelona at that time? So much history. I've got it: I wish for a time travel on my next birthday!
Paris - 16 February 2015
At the Gare de Lyon, we secure the tickets for our last trip - back to Switzerland - and then stroll off.
The cold Paris air blows in my face; I am shivering. Finally, we stand in front of the entrance to what is probably one of the most touristy cemeteries on earth: Père Lachaise. Since the 1970s, people from all over the world have been visiting Jim Morrison's grave.
To my astonishment, we are almost alone in front of it when we finally find it in the inextricable maze of paths and graves. We take a moment to look at the simple grave, adorned by a photograph and a few wilted flowers. A barrier stands in front of it to keep visitors at a distance. Too many already allowed themselves to take a piece of the tombstone home as a souvenir.
But the Père Lachaise is worth a visit even without the Doors frontman. Without a goal, without haste, we walk on, sometimes turning left into a narrow path, then climbing up an old stone staircase on the right. Sometimes along with enormous mausoleums of old, wealthy families, sometimes past graves overgrown with moss, half-collapsed.
We read many Jewish names, next to the Star of David, French, but also German, English, and some Chinese.
The cemetery is a city from another time, another world.
Back in present-day Paris, a fresh breeze is blowing. In contrast to sunny Barcelona, winter is quite noticeable here.
Following long avenues, through narrow streets, past dozens of cafes and stores, we make our way across the city. We pass la Place de la République, where flowers and memorials still adorn the statue in the square, commemorating the victims of the Charlie attack. "Nous sommes Charlie," reads the Parisian solidarity.
A few hours later, we arrive at le Palais de Tokyo. It has already become dark. On the opposite side of the Seine, the Eiffel Tower shines in the sky.
Here we meet up with Seraina's uncle Hugo, with whom we have taken lodgings for a week. He is an artist and invites us to a vernissage. The title of the exhibition is striking: "At the Edge of the Worlds."
At the Palais de Tokyo, French, as well as international artists, find a platform to present their works to a wide audience. Art usually demands too much from me. Maybe I just don't understand it.
But then now and then there are moments when people simply fascinate me. One is to have an idea. To see it, to form it. It's quite another thing to realize it in such an ingenious, personal way.
Doesn't it mean that each of us is an artist? Or can be, if he/she engages in his/her creativity?
Even more than the artworks at this vernissage, I wonder about the guests and artists present. In between, it is true, people stand out who look like stereotypical painters (beret, goatee, long coat, artist's charisma) or like a countess who can afford anything.
But most are young people, or young at heart, who look quite ordinary. Maybe many of them are students and people interested in art. Certainly, among them, there are artists with different degrees of fame. Nevertheless, some of them do not stand out from others.
So many times I have wondered and complained about mankind, how they treat themselves and their planet; in such a way that it can only lead to one end.
However, if I think it right, resourceful heads, creative thinking, inspired spirits to give me bigger riddles.
Riddles, however, which I do not feel forced to solve. Much more I want to admire the picture, the sculpture, the text, or simply the creator of the work and be inspired. In the hope that a small spark of creative power jumps over to me.
The End
(There are still some pictures missing in this post. If I find them again, I will add them soon)
South America Tour 2013-15
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