Wonderlust - Under the Southern Cross!

Won·der·lust (wondr-lst) n. - A very strong or irresistible impulse to travel this world of wonder. 

In a year of wonderlust, I flew to Santiago then on to the south of Chile and there the night sky of Patagonia was graced with the smallest of the eighty-eight modern constellations; small, yes, but one of great distinction. La Cruz is what you’ll hear in Spanish, the Latin would have it as Crux Australis and in English, better known as the Southern Cross.

The Cross is easily visible from the southern hemisphere at most any time of year. It is also visible near the horizon just north of the equator for a few hours every night during winter-spring in the north. For instance, it is visible in Southern Mexico or any other place at latitude 25° N or less at around 10 pm at the end of April. I mention the logistics being the Cross is so eagerly pursued by all Northern visitors to the South.

Once traveling to Puerto Natales, hiking through Torres del Paine National Park and eating my fill of Centolla King Crab in Puntas Arenas, I went down to the water. At the wharf I sought out a boat to sail the Straits of Magellan and make Ushuaia, Argentina & then Porto Williams, Chile from where you can fly over or round Cape Horn by sail. Both cities are enjoyed as the most southerly in the world. The aspect of the land put me in mind of my native Newfoundland and surely the position of both points to their respective poles would produce resemblances in sky and scenery. But my surprise was not the similarities but the emotion provoked by rough land and cold sea; I suffered an attack of nostalgia that I hadn’t known for decades. At the rail watching ragged shores I hummed a favorite folk song (Saltwater Joys) in a rush of salt heavy air and white tips cresting on black water. I had to pull myself into the miraculous present to get clear of the melancholy. Passage through waters renown for being temperamental was that trip unmarred by tempest and high winds. Yet at night the water had its chop and the Cross hung beautifully in the clear nocturnal sky. With a deep cup of Chilean red, I thought of all the sailors who had plied these inhospitable waters; most notably Magellan, de Gamboa, Thomas, Drake and then Darwin and his boat giving name to the Beagle Channel, intrepid all. Coming in from the dark cold, I stood watch long into the night with my reveries and wine at the fore of the craft. Sleep did not come readily that night.

After the flight over the Horn from Porto Williams and taking in the panorama of cold, craggy expanse I kept thinking Antarctica is just down there; Looking south I felt no compulsion to leave. I slowly made Ushuaia and lingered there on its wide bay on the southern coast of Isla Grande de Tierra del Fuego. All the while I’d read the work of Nobel Prize winner Gabriel Mistral. In those environs I felt a kinship with her and was thankful for she helped me sense all I was seeing. Adding to that, the Cross was with me every night and I felt no loneliness only the loveliness of being at the ends of the earth. 

A flight was booked to Buenos Aires (BA) and so there was an imposed limit to my wanderings by rigid itinerary. I’m most inclined to think travel plans should be as soft as a whim, as subtle as caprice but I suppose that would never fly with the airlines of any country, silly me. BA was so far north the afternoons were hot and the evenings cool, perfect for late night carousing. The wine had changed to Malbec in perfect complement to the great commotion and nightly excitement that went on till wee hours. Lamentably light pollution contaminated my view of the Cross but I knew it was there. I could feel it. 

The last day in BA was fidgety & restless, it was as if the road had called. Next morning I was to fly to the Falls of Iguaçu (on the border of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay) then travel home overland to La Paz, Bolivia by way of Asuncion. And in this way, I was to complete a loop of South American travel adorned by the light of the Cross. 

 For me the Cross is friend, siren and unattainable lover. And it must be so for many, being I’ve seen people's backs and arms tattooed with the constellation and note it embellishing the flags of nations (Australia, Brazil, New Zealand and Samoa). When a land adopts you and you call it home you never suspect you’ll receive the gift of stars. Perhaps that is why you should come south for a visit. You just may find a new home and new cross to call your own.

- Fotos, map and star information compliments of Wikipedia & Wiki Commons


Copyright © Mick Huerta 2011. All Rights Reserved.
mickhuerta@gmail.com
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Vienna Restaurant: Anchotini - New Martini Deserves Respect! La Paz, Bolivia

“Never say never, never say always!” Red faced! I've just had opportunity to learn this lesson anew!

Admittedly I have on many, many occasions pooh-poohed the idea of any Martini Cocktail other than the Classic Dry (and then only with gin). In the face of Choco-tinis & Apple-tinis, I have mocked enthusiastically and freely voiced my disdain. And not long ago I wrote expressing extreme Dry Martini prejudice, subsequently receiving email decrying my rigid stance. Immediately thereafter, I launched into research to prove my position that Euro & Latino bartenders drown perfectly good gin in Vermouth. Granted I was to use a small sample group to tar the aforementioned bartenders but I've traveled internationally three decades (over half my life time) drinking and teaching the Dry Martini. So with all that far-flung experience, I figured I could use my city of residence (La Paz, Bolivia) as the macro in the micro, the world in a grain of sand so to speak.

Presently, there are a little over two million people living here with a good smattering of Europeans in the food and beverage industry. Perfect, Euros and Latinos! Good! I was to drink one Martini in each location and move on to the next, hit it and quite, all in the name of science and statistics. I covered La Comedie, La Guingette, the penthouse Utama/Plaza Hotel, the Radisson Bar, Europa Hotel and Thelonius Jazz Bar. Asking for a DRY, DRY Martini Cocktail, each and every watering-hole delivered a "half & half" mix of Gin to Vermouth. In two nights it was six for six; postulation proven.

Feeling well justified and seeking comfort after an arduous ordeal, I returned to my haven for Martini Cocktails, the Vienna Restaurant. The owner Paul is Austrian and where he learnt the Classic Dry Martini I cannot say. I’m just thankful he did learn and has taught an efficient bar staff to care for road weary travelers and locals suffering shattered city nerves.

Now here is where “Never say never, never say always!” comes in… recounting the tale of long laborious research, Paul shared with me that the Vienna has its own Martini.

“Oh,” was my reply.

“Yes,” Paul said.

“Dry?”

“Yes.”

“May I have one?”

“Yes.”

He turned to the barman and ordered. As you see Paul is very agreeable and makes things happen in a pleasant way. And he does it all in German, Spanish & English when most people can hardly manage to be polite in one language. Bit of a miracle in itself, is it not?...

The glass, tall and chilled, held a seemingly perfect Dry Martini. However, a small variation had been executed by skewering a Caper rolled in an Anchovy Fillet. I sipped heartily not to be put off at all, as it’s well known that Caper & Anchovy in combination mute one and the other and deliver yet another flavor in fusion. One sip and a new fanatic was born.

Yes, I continue to love the Classic! But I am now a fan of the Ancho-tini, as well! The “Never say never, never say always!” lesson learnt once again! I report to you a humbled man with two Dry Martini favorites to his name. And as is often the case when you put away your prejudice, the world becomes bigger in the end!

Restaurant Vienna

Address: Federico Zuazo #1905

Tel: 244.1660

La Paz, Bolivia

Copyright © Mick Huerta 2011. All Rights Reserved.
mickhuerta@gmail.com
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Berry Good (Bramble Liqueur) in the Andes! La Paz, Bolivia

The rains are early this year. Now that might put a little gloom into a day but it's said that every cloud has it's lining of silver. And the positive here is an abundance of blackberries in the markets. There are even peasant women selling berries out of baskets on the street! You'd love the atmosphere of plenty!

This morning I made Oatmeal Porridge with dark Cane Sugar & Quinoa flakes (deliciously creamy) and the punch is, of coarse, the BLACKBERRIES! Eating local, fresh and in season makes for the best eye opening mornings. And no doubt your mouth will automatically open on it's own just to receive the goodness when a perfectly ripe berry is involved!

The plan for later today is to make Creme de Mures (much like creme de cassis but using blackberries rather than red currants). My approach is simple, pop a whack of washed berries into a large jar pour in enough white lightening or vodka to cover. Using your hand blender puree the fruit into a slurry. Top up with remaining portion of the liter of firewater. Let stand for about three months. Shake whenever it occurs to you. Keep in a cool dark place (under the sink will do). When the time comes strain the potion, then make some Simple Syrup and add for the sweetness you prefer.

Traditionally, this liqueur is made sweet for mixing with dry white wine. You´ll recognize the combination as KIR (Cocktail), awfully nice. And in three months time you'll love yourself, KIR in hand, for planning ahead! No matter gray, heavy skies; there's fun to be had now and later just by putting your berries where your mouth is!

Copyright © Mick Huerta 2011. All Rights Reserved.
mickhuerta@gmail.com
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Coffee, Coca & Thee - Los Yungas, Bolivia

Under a tin-roof in the Yungas cloud forest, I bought a round of cold beer. We sat, just me, a few farmers and their wives sipping & chatting on an afternoon of oppressive heat. Coca leaves were placed on the table for sharing; leaves that had been grown just up the dirt road. The chatter was predictably about banana, citrus and coffee, the principal crops of this subtropical zone. With a roll of the eyes, there was resigned commentary on the international report that coffee prices have hit a 14-year high. Looking around this little village and at the people who work the coffee plants, you might wonder where all the money is. For these small-scale producers, the topic of coffee means lean profit, hard labor and but one harvest a year. On the other end of the spectrum, the coca plant (which is coming into new prominence in this zone) provides three to four harvests in the same period. The price coca brings is higher than that of coffee and it doesn’t need much care. Harvest, dry and sell; that´s it. A simple process that provides more time in a day to work other crops.


The farmers say coffee is problematic. Good coffee requires nurturing ‘til the dry season when the coffee cherries become red ripe and can be harvested. Yet the cherries don’t ripen all at the same time so you must hand pick only the rubies from the branches, place them in baskets and carry them to processing. Then you continually return to the plants and pick only the red cherries until the year’s harvest is complete.

Now the work has only just begun… In the Yungas, they prefer natural drying which is the oldest method of processing coffee. The pulp of the cherry fruit is cleaned away by hand. Then the beans are spread in a thin layer on patios to be dried in the sun. They must be raked and turned and raked and in three to four weeks they will have dried nicely. From there the beans will be milled, hulled, polished, cleaned & sorted. At this point, the beans are bagged and sold to brokers for export. If destined for the Bolivian market they are then roasted, ground and packaged for local sale and consumption.


As we sipped they chewed their coca leaves. In front of each lay a little pile of discarded bits; the farmers were carefully stripping out the stem and the middle rib reserving only the sweet green leaf. With smiles I received assurance that this was the very best; the small tender Yungas leaf grown for chewing not the coarse, large leaf of the Chapare Region (infamously used for cocaine production). The leisurely conversation took a new turn. Roberto Zabala, secretary general of the Afro-Bolivian community, told me frankly the quotas for growing legal coca have increased since Bolivia's first indigenous President EVO Morales took office in 2006. And that they fully understand that EVO will eventually go and quotas will be lowered. And so they're reluctant to dedicate more land to coca plants even though they now earn more. The pendulum will swing the other way and the balance of coffee and coca and fruit will change once again. The on-going challenge for any person living on the land is to survive the intense sun, periods of heavy rain and even the unpredictable politics. Yet for now, they're happy there’s a little more money for buying children's shoes, for repairing houses and investing in equipment that will make future farm work a little easier. One of the wives said you've got to take the good times with the bad. And times are better. Even so, they're also putting something away for whatever is to come. "Things are going to change," another wife said. “They always do.”

All images by Mick Huerta. Taken in the legal Coca fields of Los Yungas, Bolivia.

Copyright © Mick Huerta 2011.
All Rights Reserved.
mickhuerta@gmail.com
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Stairway to Heaven or Fast Lane to Prison? Route 36 – The Cocaine Bar of La Paz, Bolivia

Evo Morales took office in 2006 and became Bolivia's first indigenous president. He, himself, is a grower of the Coca leaf and continues as leader of the Coca workers union. The year 2008 saw Morales dismiss the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and in so doing created a new mood. Though legally speaking, the Bolivian world remains divided into the colors of white and green. It´s a climate of zero tolerance for cocaine (white) and an open heart for the leaf (green). One is gringo and the other native… and between these two extremes there thrives an after-hours disco near the center of the city that unabashedly offers cocaine by the gram. The world’s first openly cocaine bar, Route 36, is much like any disco anywhere on the planet complete with dancing, trippy lights, funky cocktails and big bouncers at the door. But here the rules change just a bit. You need a foreign passport to play; no go if you’re Bolivian. The focus is on international tourists that are passing through while packing ample cash. Route 36 offers a blow-out, a once in a lifetime experience to share back home. Just a little naughty and gone!

And with international currency it really doesn’t cost much to play. When you sit down the waiter takes a drinks order and asks about cocaine for the table. At the equivalent of $22 per gram, a pleased corporate lawyer commented it was 'round the price of two packs of cigarettes home in London. His IT manager wife laughed and ordered yet more Gin Tonics. With cheap cocktails and tall bottles of beer the tables were full of travelers (mostly Euros, Aussies and Kiwis) drawing little white lines. All were generously buying rounds and powder; spirits running high! Evidently, what happens in La Paz stays in La Paz. Not so unusual considering everyone would be moving on in a day or two... no one lingers at 3,650 meters (11,975 ft).

In March 2011, the former head of Bolivia's main anti-narcotics unit was busted for smuggling cocaine along with 15 other police officials being detained for complicity. Shortly thereafter Bolivia withdrew from the UN Convention on Narcotic Drugs. What that means at street level is absolutely nothing. Not to suggest it’s the wild, wild Andes as there’s always caution to exercise. Route 36 sporadically shuts down and reopens in a new location to avoid the heat. You might wonder how to find the latest clandestine location? Ask any radio-taxi driver (formal registered taxis, not hacks)! They keep up on developments and, yes, you’ll pay just a little extra for “on-the-quiet” information but less than $5.00 will easily get you there with companions. Another fiver will return you to your pillow, no matter the hour. And as a tourist in a quiet La Paz hotel room contemplating the light fantastic one may well ask, “Is this a stairway to heaven or the fast lane to prison?” Either, frankly, being a real possibility.

Cameras are prohibited, therefore, these images were taken on the sly.
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Copyright © Mick Huerta 2011. All Rights Reserved.
mickhuerta@gmail.com
Travel, Culture, Food & Wine!