"I am in end-stage liver failure," says Kathy. But neither she, her family or her friends are comfortable with the verdict. And we are all donating what we can so that she can obtain a transplant. We love her and want her to be around for many more years.
Please read the rest of her appeal for help here
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Medellín, Colombia
This is not the picture that belongs to this story; but this is the story that will explain what happened to the picture that didn’t make it here.
My flight from Medellín to Bogotá, Bogotá to Lima, required that, around 7 AM, at least, on 4 September, I take a taxi from Casa Kiwi in the El Poblado district to the metro; the metro to Universidad; a 3-block walk to the back of a hotel whose name will probably pop into my head in a few months, to get the bus for the little more than one-hour ride to the airport.
Now, why would I leave that early for an 11:40 AM flight? I absolutely detest the city’s shiny, new, pleasant-riding metro system, which has three cars when it should have five, and six when it should have eight. The people in that city are among the politest I have ever encountered anywhere … except when the metro pulls into the station. They never leave you any room to exit onto the platform, everyone seeming intent on getting a seat. So you stand a pretty good chance of being pushed from behind, suddenly, whether you are entering or departing a metro car. And, although I left Lima with only a back pack, I was returning with the backpack and a mini duffel bag when I bought there.
And it was the right decision because when the metro pulled into the station at around 7 o’clock, there was ample space for me in the front car.
But the story is not about 4 September. It is about my last full day in Colombia – Wednesday, 3 September.
I had returned the 2nd from Manizales and was unsure how to spend my last day. In Salento, I had heard about this huge rock, with steps that took you to the top, from which you had a wonderful view of the countryside. Or, I could go to the Jardin Botanico. In the end, having taken a 5-hour trip the day before, I wasn’t eager to take a 4-hour round trip to a rock So I decided to go to the botanical garden.
When I got to the Universidad metro station, I set out to find a bank. A woman, who I had just paid 500 Pesos to make a phone call to Avianca airlines, pointed me to Bancolombia, which seemed quite nearby, and off to another direction, which she indicated was much further. I had a bad experience with Bancolombia, which is another story, and decided I wanted nothing to do with them. So, I headed off to the other direction, the garden on my left.
The first man I asked, pointed me in the direction I had been walking and told me about four blocks. Because Colombia is mountainous country, four blocks is not as simple as it sounds, with paved roads, yes, but mountain climbing nonetheless. Let me make an already too-long story, short. I walked, and sweated profusely, for about 14 blocks.
I now had a choice of two banks and the first happened to be, you know which. I left for the other and got some money. Then, having sweated so profusely, I decided to enter a restaurant for a fruit drink but ended up having lunch.
Now, every single word I have told you so far is prologue. Here’s the story of that missing picture.
After I left the restaurant, shortly after 1 o’clock, I took a different, as I am won’t to do, to see if I encounter graffiti. I photographed a wall dedicated to the famous Argentinian singer Carlos Gardel - The King of Tango, then turned left down a street. It seemed as if ten or 11 blocks would take me to the botanical garden.
At the second block, I saw a piece of art, along with words, on a wall. It was a red heart with some words that appeared to be a call for peace among factions in the community. As I snapped a picture of this quite pleasant design, three guys who had been sitting nearby, approached me and demanded that I take no pictures in that neighbourhood. And they weren’t smiling either.
I explained that I liked the design, thought it was well executed, loved taking photos of graffiti and murals, and that I like the idea of the heart, which meant love. They still weren’t smiling. I became concerned when one of the guys, who appeared as if it were his visiting day out of the crazy house, asked me a question about the camera. I waved my goodbyes, touched my chest to show that it was all about love.
I had walked about six blocks when I saw a guy on a bike riding down the street, and something about him seemed familiar. At the next block, I decided to make a left and walk one block before making a right. About one or two blocks before the garden, the guy on the bike appeared before me. And I stopped.
He proceeded to ask me about why I took the picture. Who was I? Where was I from? How long had I been in Colombia? Where was I staying? (I told him the district, El Poblado, not the hostel. Had he pressed me for the hostel, I would have told him the Blacksheep, even though I was staying at Casa Kiwi.) With the engine running all the time, he continued the probe.
It was not a comfortable situation, and it didn’t take me long to decide to delete the photo, which, I assumed would put an end to the inquiry. So, I proposed doing just so. I found the picture easily enough, it being the last picture I had taken. I held the camera so that he could see the picture. I hit the three buttons that did the deed, and announced that, yes, the picture no longer existed.
He asked me to hand him the camera so that he could look and I declined to do so. I hit buttons that showed before and after, to convince him that the picture had really been deleted. Again, with the engine running, he requested to hold my camera, and again I declined.
Twice, he asked me if I wished to return to retake the picture, and twice I thankfully declined. After about an additional five minutes (I guess about 12 in all), we shook hands. And I walked to the garden, made a left and walked to La Esquina de las Mujeres (Women’s Corner).
And I took the picture above.
And I got the hell out of there. Got the metro and returned to the hostel.
My flight from Medellín to Bogotá, Bogotá to Lima, required that, around 7 AM, at least, on 4 September, I take a taxi from Casa Kiwi in the El Poblado district to the metro; the metro to Universidad; a 3-block walk to the back of a hotel whose name will probably pop into my head in a few months, to get the bus for the little more than one-hour ride to the airport.
Now, why would I leave that early for an 11:40 AM flight? I absolutely detest the city’s shiny, new, pleasant-riding metro system, which has three cars when it should have five, and six when it should have eight. The people in that city are among the politest I have ever encountered anywhere … except when the metro pulls into the station. They never leave you any room to exit onto the platform, everyone seeming intent on getting a seat. So you stand a pretty good chance of being pushed from behind, suddenly, whether you are entering or departing a metro car. And, although I left Lima with only a back pack, I was returning with the backpack and a mini duffel bag when I bought there.
And it was the right decision because when the metro pulled into the station at around 7 o’clock, there was ample space for me in the front car.
But the story is not about 4 September. It is about my last full day in Colombia – Wednesday, 3 September.
I had returned the 2nd from Manizales and was unsure how to spend my last day. In Salento, I had heard about this huge rock, with steps that took you to the top, from which you had a wonderful view of the countryside. Or, I could go to the Jardin Botanico. In the end, having taken a 5-hour trip the day before, I wasn’t eager to take a 4-hour round trip to a rock So I decided to go to the botanical garden.
When I got to the Universidad metro station, I set out to find a bank. A woman, who I had just paid 500 Pesos to make a phone call to Avianca airlines, pointed me to Bancolombia, which seemed quite nearby, and off to another direction, which she indicated was much further. I had a bad experience with Bancolombia, which is another story, and decided I wanted nothing to do with them. So, I headed off to the other direction, the garden on my left.
The first man I asked, pointed me in the direction I had been walking and told me about four blocks. Because Colombia is mountainous country, four blocks is not as simple as it sounds, with paved roads, yes, but mountain climbing nonetheless. Let me make an already too-long story, short. I walked, and sweated profusely, for about 14 blocks.
I now had a choice of two banks and the first happened to be, you know which. I left for the other and got some money. Then, having sweated so profusely, I decided to enter a restaurant for a fruit drink but ended up having lunch.
Now, every single word I have told you so far is prologue. Here’s the story of that missing picture.
After I left the restaurant, shortly after 1 o’clock, I took a different, as I am won’t to do, to see if I encounter graffiti. I photographed a wall dedicated to the famous Argentinian singer Carlos Gardel - The King of Tango, then turned left down a street. It seemed as if ten or 11 blocks would take me to the botanical garden.
At the second block, I saw a piece of art, along with words, on a wall. It was a red heart with some words that appeared to be a call for peace among factions in the community. As I snapped a picture of this quite pleasant design, three guys who had been sitting nearby, approached me and demanded that I take no pictures in that neighbourhood. And they weren’t smiling either.
I explained that I liked the design, thought it was well executed, loved taking photos of graffiti and murals, and that I like the idea of the heart, which meant love. They still weren’t smiling. I became concerned when one of the guys, who appeared as if it were his visiting day out of the crazy house, asked me a question about the camera. I waved my goodbyes, touched my chest to show that it was all about love.
I had walked about six blocks when I saw a guy on a bike riding down the street, and something about him seemed familiar. At the next block, I decided to make a left and walk one block before making a right. About one or two blocks before the garden, the guy on the bike appeared before me. And I stopped.
He proceeded to ask me about why I took the picture. Who was I? Where was I from? How long had I been in Colombia? Where was I staying? (I told him the district, El Poblado, not the hostel. Had he pressed me for the hostel, I would have told him the Blacksheep, even though I was staying at Casa Kiwi.) With the engine running all the time, he continued the probe.
It was not a comfortable situation, and it didn’t take me long to decide to delete the photo, which, I assumed would put an end to the inquiry. So, I proposed doing just so. I found the picture easily enough, it being the last picture I had taken. I held the camera so that he could see the picture. I hit the three buttons that did the deed, and announced that, yes, the picture no longer existed.
He asked me to hand him the camera so that he could look and I declined to do so. I hit buttons that showed before and after, to convince him that the picture had really been deleted. Again, with the engine running, he requested to hold my camera, and again I declined.
Twice, he asked me if I wished to return to retake the picture, and twice I thankfully declined. After about an additional five minutes (I guess about 12 in all), we shook hands. And I walked to the garden, made a left and walked to La Esquina de las Mujeres (Women’s Corner).
And I took the picture above.
And I got the hell out of there. Got the metro and returned to the hostel.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Medellín, Colombia
I've seen 1,000s of graffiti, but this is the first time I have ever seen an actual canvas with art pasted on a wall, along with graffiti.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Medelin,Colombia
21 August 2008
I had wanted to visit Cartagena,on Colombia's coast, but the fare from Lima was more than I had bargained for, around $747. Which made me start thinking about taking a national flight south, to Tacna, and going by road to Chile. I just didn't care for the idea of going to Chile for a fourth time.
But Eugeene emailed me with a price of $425 to Medellín.
So, I left Lima at around 5:35 PM today and,after a stopover in Bogotá, arrived in Medellín at 10:40 PM.
I had heard that a cab would cost about $25, so was extremely pleased to find a small bus parked outside the terminal that cost 6,000 pesos (about $4). It was quite far to the city and I kept thinking, if I had taken a cab for that long ride, which seemed to be about 25 miles, that after paying, I would have had enough left to turn around and take the cab back to the airport.
When the bus arrived in town, I was pointed to a cab, and I gave the guy who ushered me to the cab, $1. We had a difficult time finding my hostel, partly because I wrote Casa Wiki, instead of Casa Kiwi. But something may have been amiss with the address, even though I wrote it down as I saw it on the internet. We finally got directions when I asked a guard to call the hostel, and we were about the drive past, after midnight, when I just spotted the name.
Not having one peso, I borrowed 5,000 pesos from the hostel, and paid the driver, along with $1 tip.
And I went to bed.
I had wanted to visit Cartagena,on Colombia's coast, but the fare from Lima was more than I had bargained for, around $747. Which made me start thinking about taking a national flight south, to Tacna, and going by road to Chile. I just didn't care for the idea of going to Chile for a fourth time.
But Eugeene emailed me with a price of $425 to Medellín.
So, I left Lima at around 5:35 PM today and,after a stopover in Bogotá, arrived in Medellín at 10:40 PM.
I had heard that a cab would cost about $25, so was extremely pleased to find a small bus parked outside the terminal that cost 6,000 pesos (about $4). It was quite far to the city and I kept thinking, if I had taken a cab for that long ride, which seemed to be about 25 miles, that after paying, I would have had enough left to turn around and take the cab back to the airport.
When the bus arrived in town, I was pointed to a cab, and I gave the guy who ushered me to the cab, $1. We had a difficult time finding my hostel, partly because I wrote Casa Wiki, instead of Casa Kiwi. But something may have been amiss with the address, even though I wrote it down as I saw it on the internet. We finally got directions when I asked a guard to call the hostel, and we were about the drive past, after midnight, when I just spotted the name.
Not having one peso, I borrowed 5,000 pesos from the hostel, and paid the driver, along with $1 tip.
And I went to bed.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Surco, Lima, Peru
I'm being served a salad in a restaurant at the corners of Avenidas Aviación and Valles del Sur.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
Back in Lima, Peru
I return to Lima
I got out of bed in Boulder, Colorado about 5 AM on 27 February and Geneva drove me to the bus station on Walnut Street. I caught the 9:19, and the driver questioned my age when I confirmed through him that seniors paid $5.50. He accepted when I told him that Hitler was raising hell the year I was born.
Got to the airport at about 7:40, a full half an hour before the arrival of the $25 ride, which would've picked me up at home.
Caught the plane to Atlanta and left there more than an hour late. Turns out that several people hadn't shown up and they had to find their luggage and take it off the plane. Consequently, we arrived in Lima one hour late, at 1 AM.
I was lucky on several counts. I was among the first dozen passengers who passed through Immigration; then stood for about 12 minutes a the wrong baggage station but got a cart and went to the correct one, where I waited for about half an our for my two duffel bags.
Second stroke of luck. When I pushed the button it turned green, which is my cue to leave Customs.
Then, third stroke of luck, when I turned the corner I heard and saw Felix and Rosi. Felix it was who shouted my name, even though we were yet to meet.
Third stroke of luck. Now you don't need to leave the cart inside the terminal, but can push it outside with all your luggage. That is a big improvement.
So, here I am, at the second week after my arrival, still adjusting to being at sea level and the heat. I make it a point never to complain about the heat, because I complain mightily against the cold.
So far, I have gone three times to see my friend Alejandra compete in a program on TV called Desafio & Fama. She is a dancer and has been doing quite well so far.
Here are a few photos that I took of her.
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