SOUTH AMERICA – PART 3

Bolivia is a large land-locked country bordered by Colombia, Peru, Brazil, and Chile, and it has a population estimated at 12 million. It is about the size of Ontario, and one-third of the country lies within the high Andean plateau. Bolivia is a developing country, the second poorest in South America. Its economy is based on agriculture, forestry, mining, and goods such as textiles and clothing, refined metals, and petroleum. Bolivian mines produce tin, silver, wolfram, borax, lithium, and copper.

Bolivia’s Gross Domestic Product per capita is about $4,000, half of Colombia’s. The contrast between the two countries is striking: infrastructure is very basic, women line the sidewalks selling basic goods and junk food, the public education system is poor and, although health care is public, it is poorly developed and delivered.

To an uninformed outsider like me, Bolivia appears on the verge of economic and political collapse. In La Paz and on our way to Uyuni, we passed endless lines of trucks waiting to buy fuel. Dozens of the trucks waiting in line were petroleum tankers needing fuel to pick up their loads. The bus driver for the first day of our Intrepid  tour waited six hours to fill his tank with diesel.

Bolivia’s central reserves are dangerously low, meaning essentially that the country is on the verge of bankruptcy. The surest sign of this is that everyone wants $US and they’re willing to pay a premium above the official rate to get them. Loss of confidence in a country’s currency is the first sure sign of an economic crisis in the making. Although things were quiet when we visited, there have been massive demonstrations in La Paz and, in some parts of the country, protesters are blocking the main roads. The place is ripe for revolution.

It took us eight hours by bus to get from La Paz to Uyuni, 540 kilometers. Along the way, we saw crushing poverty: dogs eating garbage left on the side of the road; mud brick houses with no electricity; and farm fields parched from lack of rain. Uyuni, population 30,000, is the main transportation hub for the movement of goods between La Paz and Potosi in Bolivia, and across the Chilean and Argentinian borders. But its main claim to fame is as the gateway to the Uyuni Salt Flats. Each year, 60,000 or so visitors from around the world come to experience them, and that’s why we were here. The photos below show mud brick structures at one of our rest stops and a herd of domesticated llamas.

The next morning, we were up bright and early to drive to the Uyuni Salt Flats. But first, we stopped at the train museum, a rather decrepit collection of locomotives and coal cars from the steam era. Still, it was fun climbing onto a couple of the old girls, which of course I did. I counted 49 Toyota Land Cruisers in the parking lot, tourists all headed for the same place we were.

The vastness of Uyuni Salt Flats is hard to describe, let alone imagine. They cover 12,000 square kilometers, an area twice the size of Prince Edward Island and are of the purest white. The salt is several meters thick and is underlain by a brine rich in lithium, a very valuable mineral used in the production of batteries. There is talk of exploitation elsewhere but Bolivia will insist on local processing before it allows foreign interests to invest.

We drove about 200 kilometers during the day, stopping at the former salt hotel (of course made of salt), and at a rock outcrop called Incahuasi. We climbed to the top past massive giant cacti and got a 360-view of the flats below.

That evening, we slept at a “hotel” in the very small community of San Juan. While a few brave souls make a living growing quinoa, I suspect the hotel is a major employer since there were 30 guests the night we were there.

On Day 3 of our excursion in the wilds of southwest Bolivia, we drove across another salt flat, this one brown in colour, and our 25-year-old Toyota suffered a major breakdown. We watched in amazement as our driver and the two others who were travelling with us dismantled a major engine system and got her going again in jig time.

The highlight of the day was seeing flamingos in several locations, feasting on shrimp growing in waters that few organisms can live in. The water must be very salty but the birds were thriving. We saw three species in the same lagoon: Andean, Chilean, and Lesser, plus some ducks and seagulls. The scenery on this day was spectacular as we drove across dirt tracks mostly, our driver skilled enough to navigate the Paris-Dakar Rally if given the chance. He seemed to know every rut and pothole. The photo below shows where we crossed the railway tracks. Do you see the road? That’s because there isn’t one.

I can usually use Google Maps to retrace a route we’ve done on a given day, but Days 3 and 4 are impossible to find because the “roads” we drove on are not marked. We stayed our second night in a hostel in the tiny hamlet of Huayllajara, population 100. Next morning, I got up bright and early and took a picture of the local grocery store at sunrise. I wasn’t feeling very well so decided to go for my morning constitutional to get things moving, as it were. Shit happens they say. The highlight of the day for me was a dry fart!

Day 4 took us south along the border with Chile to the extreme southwest corner of Bolivia where we saw geysers and fumaroles in an area of volcanic activity. Geothermal energy is in its infancy here but at least the country is getting a start.

After a relaxing dip in a hot spring, we began the long drive back to Uyuni, again over dirt tracks. We made a few stops along the way, including this one at an interesting rock formation. If this were in North America or Europe, it would be a major tourist attraction, but we had the place to ourselves. Our guide told us that we drove 1,000 km during our three-day Uyuni excursion. No more than 50 of that would have been on paved highways and maybe 300 or maintained gravel roads; the rest was off-road. 

Our group of twelve, six Aussies, four Swiss, and us, are all seasoned travellers and range in age from early 30s to early 70s (that’s us!). Half of the group had hiked the Inca Trail before flying to La Paz, so they were accustomed to the altitude. Altitude sickness is not pleasant: headache, dizziness, shortness of breath, upset stomach, and dry mouth and nose. The sun in the Bolivian desert is intense. The three-day journey from Uyuni to southwest Bolivia requires one to be in good health and ready for many inconveniences. 

We’re glad we did it, but we also realize that we’re nearing the end of difficult journeys like these. Our guide, Wendy, takes very good care of us, testing our blood oxygen level twice a day to make sure we’re safe and checking regularly to see that we’re OK. A reading below 80% means your body can’t get enough oxygen to keep your organs and muscles functioning and, for an Intrepid traveller, it means you’re leaving the tour. A couple came close, but we all managed to hang in there.

Day 5 began with a four-hour ride on a public bus from Uyuni to Potosí, a city of 850,000 that was founded by the Spanish in the 16^th century to mine silver. It was one of the largest and richest cities in the world in its heyday. Our guide, Wendy, led us on a walking tour of the historic center, declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site for its colonial era buildings. We had lunch at a beautiful café overlooking a city square and had dinner together at a fine local restaurant. 

On Day 6, we pulled up stakes again, this time on a four-hour bus ride to Sucre where we will spend the next couple of days before ending our tour in La Paz on Saturday.

 

SOUTH AMERICA – PART 2

On Day 9, our last day in Medellin, we booked a guided tour with a private tour company. The guide met us at the door to the hotel saying, “solo Español”. Since no one else on the bus spoke English, we had to figure things out for ourselves. Mostly, we just followed along. Fellow passengers were from other parts of Colombia, as well as Puerto Rico, Costa Rica, Honduras and El Salvador. The bus ride to Guatapé took about two hours with a couple of rest stops along the way. The whole tour cost $72 for the both of us, and included a sandwich stop and a hot lunch!

There isn’t a lot to do in Guatapé, a town of 5,000 or so, but a nearby attraction is well worth the trip: the climb up El Péñon de Guatapé. The bus dropped us off in the parking lot and the guide told us they’d be back in an hour, enough time to allow me to climb to the top. Elva wasn’t feeling it that day, so I climbed the 706 steps to the viewing platform by myself. Us old guys take comfort in small victories: I didn’t stop to rest, and no one passed me! I was lucky that the rain held off just enough for me to take in the views. I had a nice chat with a couple of guys from Ireland and headed back down to meet the rest of our group.

After a nice lunch in Guatapé, we drove back towards Medellin and took a 45-minute boat ride on the Peñol-Guatapé Reservoir. Along the way, we passed by the ruins of one of drug lord Pablo Escobar’s retreats, today a haunting and tacky tourist attraction.

The drive back to Medellin took an hour longer than expected due to a massive traffic jam. As is the case in so many other cities, infrastructure is not keeping up with population growth. People are pouring in from surrounding areas, squatting on land high in the surrounding hills and living in terrible conditions, homelessness is widespread, and sex tourism is on the rise. While Medellin is an interesting place to visit for a few days, it isn’t a place we’d come back to.

We rose bright and early on Day 10 for the short flight to Cartagena, population 900,000. The city lies on the Caribbean and has an interesting history. The presence of indigenous peoples dates to 4,000 BC, and the Spanish established the first European settlement here in 1533, making it one of the oldest in the Americas. As a former Spanish colony, it was the key port for the export of silver and gold from the interior and for the import of enslaved Africans. Today's Cartagena is a vibrant tourist destination, welcoming many cruise ships on Caribbean itineraries.

After checking into our hotel in the district of Getsemani, Santiago led us on a walking tour of the old city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site featuring a colonial walled city and fortress. Unlike other places we visited in Colombia, Cartagena is hot. Stinking hot! It had rained early in the day, some streets were flooded, it was 30 degrees C, and the humidity was at 86%. By the time we got back from our walk (10,000 steps or so), I was cooked!

Cartagena resonates with salsa—there’s no other way to describe it, as it’s one of the world’s capitals for dancing and enjoying this Caribbean-rooted musical genre. It’s impossible not to move your feet and hips to some of the classic salsa songs. We listened to live music at the Plaza de la Alduana inside the old city walls. Cartagena celebrated its Fiestas de Independencia the weekend we were there. We had dinner in a very nice restaurant, our last as a group, and Elva and I headed back to the hotel around 9:00 while the young folks went back for more salsa. At breakfast the next morning, we said our goodbyes. This was our fifth trip with Intrepid, and the best group we’ve travelled with so far.

We’d decided to spend two extra days in Cartagena before travelling to La Paz. Little did we realize that the Independencia celebration would continue, and this time in the Getsemani neighbourhood where our hotel was located. The cacophony began in the late afternoon – loud music and firecrackers – and continued until sunrise the next morning. The street party was like New Orleans’ Mardi Gras on steroids! Thank goodness for good earplugs.

On Day 3 in Cartagena, we walked to Bocagrande, the city’s modern quarter and took a long walk along the beautiful beach. Were we to return here for a visit, we’d stay there rather than in the old quarter. We set the alarm for 2:00 am to give us enough time to get to the airport for our 5:00 am flight. I woke just in time to learn that it had been cancelled.

A travel day can go well, and it can go south. Ours only got worse! Our travel agent, Brett Tabor of Maritime Travel, tried to book us a mid-afternoon flight from Cartagena to Bogota so that we’d be sure to get on the 9:30 pm flight to La Paz. The airline, Avianca, refused to help. So, we headed to the airport at noon and went to the Avianca “Special Services” desk to change our booking. No one spoke English. They finally booked us on a 5:13 flight. It left 90 minutes late. We had just enough time to get to our gate for the La Paz flight. Instead of arriving in La Paz at 2:30 pm on November 12, we arrived at 3:30 am the next day. Shit happens! Three lessons learned: patience, stamina, and NEVER fly with Avianca again. 

A few parting comments about Colombia. If you’re hesitating because of the country’s recent turbulent past, don’t. It’s beautiful, the people are friendly and accommodating, and everything is cheap; one-third to one-half less for hotels, meals, Uber, and everything else. We stayed in three of the bigger cities, Bogota, Medellin, and Cartagena, and never felt unsafe. Our Intrepid tour was first-rate. The only thing we’d recommend is to spend more time in the smaller cities, those with populations of 50,000 or less.

Birders keep lists and so do travellers. Bolivia will be country #100 for us. Growing up in Wellington, I’d never have imagined we’d visit even 10! To be fair, the sovereignty of two of the countries we’ve included on our list is disputed. Prince Edward Island could declare its independence, but it would mean nothing if that independence was not recognized by sovereign countries, which of course it wouldn't. As an example, Taiwan’s sovereignty is recognized by only 11 of the United Nation’s 193 member states. Palestine is recognized by 143 of the UN’s member states. Both Taiwan and Palestine are recognized by Vatican City as sovereign states although the Vatican is not a UN member. So, answering the question: “How many countries have you visited?” is not as simple as it may first seem.

To make things even more complicated, some “country list keepers” count sub-national entities or states that are self-governing. For example, Saint-Pierre-et-Miquelon, Guadeloupe, Polynésie française, and Saint-Martin, though technically French overseas territories, are counted by some as countries. Same goes for self-governing entities like the Cook Islands. Places like Gibraltar, Hong Kong, Puerto Rico, and American Samoa are counted by some, but I choose not to. So, bottom line, I count Taiwan and Palestine on our list, and that makes Bolivia country #100.

After a few hours of fitful sleep, we had breakfast at our hotel, Qantu. A night here costs $63 CDN, and the room is the nicest we’ve had on this trip. I went for a short walk and got my first taste of downtown La Paz, a chaotic sight reminiscent of the poorer Central American countries. In my first South America blog, I stated that Bogotà is the world’s highest capital city at 9,000 feet. That was a mistake; the title is held by La Paz at 12,000 feet. We experienced oxygen deprivation as soon as we got off the plane.

On our only day in La Paz, we took a guided tour of the city and surrounding area. The old part of the city lies in a valley; it has expanded high into the surrounding hills and continues to do so. Double-decker buses are not our style but, since we were tired and just wanted to get out of the hotel, we thought it would be a good option. And, at $24 CDN each for four hours, it looked like a deal. The tour turned out to be better than expected and we got to see more of La Paz than we ever would have on our own. The first photo is of us with La Paz in the background and the second is of a garden at the Valle de la Luna, just outside the city.

Later, we met our twelve-member Intrepid group for introductions and an evening meal. Tomorrow, we hit the road for the city of Uyuni where we’ll stay a night before heading to the nearby Salt Flats where we’ll spend a few days off-grid sleeping in dormitories. They told us to bring our own toilet paper!

 

SOUTH AMERICA – PART 1

Sixteen hours after leaving home, at 4:00 am local time, we touched down in Bogotà, capital of Columbia. After checking into our hotel, we enjoyed a Hallowe’en-themed breakfast and caught up on our sleep before venturing out to see the sights. Bogotà is Columbia’s capital city, a sprawling metropolis of some 8 million souls nestled in a high valley, the Altiplano, and surrounded by mountains. Lying at an altitude of almost 9,000 feet (2,727 meters), it is the world’s highest capital city.

Bogotà is not a popular tourist destination. Very few locals speak any English and there is no tourist information system to speak of, so you’re pretty much on your own. I’d done a bit of research on how to get around and found that Uber was the best option. Our hotel was 8 kilometers from the city center, Plaza de Bolivar, and a ride cost as little as $4 and no more than $10, depending on the time of day. Drivers proved skillful at making their way through the chaotic traffic, they were friendly, and their vehicles were spotless.

Our first foray saw us dropped off near the central plaza. We walked through the lower town, past more street vendors than we’d ever seen before. The crowds were intense and the atmosphere noisy and frenzied. Vendors were pushy but that’s to be expected since, wherever you go, locals can spot a tourist a mile away.

We had a plan for Day 2: Montseratte and two of the national museums. The former offers spirituality, history and nature. The Sanctuary of the Fallen Lord of Montserrate sits on a mountain about 2,000 feet above the city, reached by funicular. The area offers spectacular views of Bogotà, and we were lucky to be there on a sunny morning. The gardens are beautiful and, despite being busy with visitors, the place offers a certain sense of calm. At an altitude above 7,000 feet, humans begin to suffer from oxygen deprivation. We certainly noticed this at Montserrate and for the whole of the time we spent in Bogotà.

We walked from the base of the funicular to the Museo Nacional and got to visit for free because we’re seniors! Same thing with the Museo del Oro where we saw the most impressive display of gold objects we’d ever seen, all of it made by indigenous peoples who have occupied what is now Columbia for at least 13,000 years. The “discovery” of South America by the Spanish in the early 1500s was the beginning of the end of a way of life. The invaders plundered their wealth, especially their gold, and subjugated them. The museum displays what the Spanish did not plunder, much of it buried in the graves of chieftains and their families.

Columbia is a big country, almost as big in area as Québec. It’s rich in natural resources and is heavily dependent on the export of minerals and oil; tourism accounts for only 2% of GDP. Columbia ranks only 92^nd among world economies at $8,000 of income per person per year compared to $54,000 for Canada and $87,000 for the US. We were told that income inequality is quite drastic, with much of the country controlled by the richest fifteen families.

We met our Intrepid tour group on Day 3, seven women and me! Four are from the UK, and one each from Norway and Germany. Our guide, Santiago, led us on a walking tour through the Candelaria district of Bogotà before we headed out to dinner at a chain restaurant called Crepes and Waffles. It was excellent!

We got up bright and early on Day 4, checked out of the hotel, and took a bus to the Paloquemao Market where merchants were setting up for a busy Sunday. Santiago took us to a vendor who sold a variety of local fruits and invited us to sample them. Most we’d never seen or heard of, but they were all very good. Next, it was off to the airport for our short flight to Pereira, then on to Salento. Unfortunately, our scheduled flight was cancelled, and we had to cool our heels for three hours or so; not a big deal for us but an inconvenience for most of our fellow travellers who are on short vacations.

While we waited in line to board our flight, Elva said: “That man’s from PEI!”. “How do you know?”, I asked her. “Because it says PEI on his boarding pass!” Turns out everyone on that plane had a boarding pass that said “PEI” on it. It’s the airport code for our destination, the city of Pereira. Too bad they got in ahead of us; our local airport code would look better if it was PEI and not YYG!

We arrived just before supper in the small town of Salento, population 10,000. Our hotel, the Salento Real, was beautiful. We walked the short distance to the town square and had supper at Cocora’s where I sampled the local delicacy: trout (trucho) cooked in a cheese sauce. The Sunday evening buzz in the town square was a joy to watch and listen to; locals singing and having a beverage on the many terraces.

Day 5 saw us up bright and early, ready to board 50-year-old Willys jeeps for the drive to the Cocora Valley. It rained on and off as we started our hike with guide Luis. The trail is located on a private farm and features Columbia’s national tree, the magnificent wax palm that grows to a height of 45 meters, earning it the title of tallest palm in the world. The light rain eventually gave way to occasional sunshine as we headed back to the trailhead, covering 8 kilometers in all after an ascent of 480 meters. On the way down, we watched a group of vultures circle high overhead and, just below them, a magnificent Andean condor rode the updrafts. This massive bird has a wingspan of 10 feet! While we weren’t close enough to take a photo, we did get a good look at the distinctive white patches on its wings and feathers.

We woke up on Day 6 to bright sunshine at the Hacienda Venecia Coffee Estancia. The view out our window was what travellers’ dreams are made of. After breakfast on the outdoor terrace, we headed out on a three-hour tour of the coffee plantation. We saw how the beans are grown, harvested, dried, roasted and ground, and then sampled the final product firsthand. I’m a fan of plantain, Elva is not, so I attended a cooking class in the afternoon to learn how to prepare it. The second photo shows Elva picking coffee. The fruit has the shape, size and colour of a ripe cranberry.

We travelled by bus on Day 7 from the estancia to Medellin, Columbia’s second-largest city with a population of 2.5 million. The city is promoted as a global tourist destination and is important for its universities, academies, commerce, industry, science, health services, flower-growing, and festivals. Medellín used to be considered one of the most dangerous cities in the world, the result of an urban war set off by the drug cartels at the end of the 1980s. As the home of the Medellin Cartel founded by Pablo Escobar, the city was terrorized by the war between his cartel and competing organizations. However, following the death of Escobar in December 1993, crime rates in the city decreased dramatically. After checking into our hotel, we walked through the nearby neighbourhood, checking out the many restaurants and attractions.

Day 8 began with a bus ride to Casa de las Flores in Santa Elena where we were met by the owner and given a tour of his flower growing operation. He explained the tradition of making silleteros for the annual Festival of the Flowers which takes place in Medellin each year in August. We just had to get our pictures taken with the “traditional” silletero. And I don’t look too bad in a Panama hat, if I do say so!

Next, we rode the cable car down from Arvi Park, a 16,000-acre nature reserve that lies above the city. We were met at the Metro station by local guide, Angela, and given a very interesting tour of the Moravia Barrio. In the 1970s, the city authorised the area to be used as a municipal landfill, and it eventually became a mountain of garbage. Most families relocated but the few that remained operated recycling operations out of their homes to make a living. In 2006, the area was declared a public disaster. Today, Moravia is a thriving neighbourhood with 50,000 residents. Angela is one of several community leaders, almost all of them women, and they act as an advocacy group, seeking to make things better for residents and protect the barrio against plans by developers to turn it into yet another high-rise neighbourhood. The photo below shows Angela holding the group’s manifesto.

Unfortunately, our time in Columbia is winding down. Tomorrow, we’ll take a tour to Guatapé and, on Saturday morning, we’ll fly to Cartagena where our nine-day tour will end on Sunday.

 

GRAN FONDO SHEDIAC 

Since it was my turn to pick the Gran Fondo this year, I chose the flattest one. Everyone who knows me knows I hate hills!

The five elder members of the Over The Hill Gang (OTHG) have been riding together for twenty years or so and we range in age from mid 60s to the oldest, Russ Melanson, who turned 77 in July. Other “senior” members of the group are Ira Birt, Richard Birt, and John MacQuarrie. For various reasons, all three were unable to attend.

Russ and I hitched a ride with Kent Wood, a “junior” member of OTHG who’s only 51. We left home at 5:30 and got to the registration desk in plenty of time to pick up our swag bags, don our riding kits, and get the bikes ready for the start. The temperature was 11 degrees, perfect for me, and the sun was shining as we milled around the parking area in front of Centre Homarus. Race organizers went through a list of dos and don’ts and lined us up on front of the start banner.

Kent had been assigned the task of leading us out, with Russ behind and me as lanterne rouge. We rolled up Main Street toward the traffic lights and took a right at the Irving, heading north on Rte. 133/134. Kent weaved through traffic, leading us past several slower riders. Russ and I soon realized that he had his eye on the fast bunch, so we backed off and settled into our pace. We rolled past Shediac Cape and across the Shediac Bridge before turning right towards Grande-Digue. I’d driven these roads before, but not since the 1970s.

We were caught by a group of eight riders near Cap-des-Caissie and hooked onto the back of their paceline, hoping to ride with them to the half-way point. We reeled in a few more as we rolled along at a nice, steady pace. The scenery along Rte. 530 is beautiful, the road surface is good, and the early morning Sunday traffic was very light. We rounded Cap-de-Cocagne, went through Saint-Marcel, crossed the Cocagne River bridge, and turned right onto Rte. 535. Much to our disappointment, the group we’d been riding with stopped at the feeding station, so we took off alone, hoping we were following the right route.

Just after crossing a bridge, we hit new pavement. For anyone who’s done a lot of road cycling, there are few prettier sights than new blacktop! And it wasn’t one of the one kilometer stretches we’ve become accustomed to on Prince Edward Island. No sir! It took us through Cormierville and Bar-de-Cocagne, all the way to Saint-Thomas-de-Kent! The gorgeous views and the smell of the ocean made us feel right at home. We faced a slight headwind, but not enough to be a bother. We enjoyed the rollers around Dixon Point, took in the beauty of Boutouche Bay, and rejoined Rte. 134 at Saint-François-de-Kent.

After crossing the Little Bouctouche River, we ran up the small hill and rolled down into the town. I’d been to Bouctouche several times, most recently in June when my granddaughter, Lucie, participated in Les Jeux de l’Acadie. It has a lot to offer the visitor, including nice accommodations, good restaurants, and my favourite, Le Pays de la Sagouine. But Russ and I had other things in mind on this day, the main one being how to find our way to Le Centre d’interprétation de la Dune de Bouctouche. Should we turn left or go straight? We decided to follow the star, La route du littoral Acadien. Soon after, we met the fast riders on their way back, Kent among them, and knew we were on the right track. We stocked up on Gatorade at the feeding station, got a bit of food into our bellies, and thanked the volunteers for helping us.

We’d hoped to work with a group for at least part of the 65 km return journey, but no one seemed particularly interested. They were either too fast and had already left or too slow to get going. For those who’ve ridden in Fondos, you’ll know that it’s not easy to find riders that ride the same way you do and with whom you feel safe. Both feeling pretty strong, we got into a nice rhythm, each taking a turn on the front. The ride along the shore, across the creeks and rivers, and around the bays proved every bit as beautiful on the way back to Shediac.

On a long ride like this one, my thoughts always turn to friends I’ve ridden with who are no longer with us or who have slowed down or stopped riding altogether. I lost one of my Florida riding buddies, George Constantelos, just a few months ago. I’m thankful to be able to do this, after four years of searching for a drug to control my heart condition, a-fib.

We had hoped for a slight tail wind to make the return trip a bit easier, but the flags were barely moving, and those that were signalled an onshore breeze. After Cocagne, we caught and passed riders on their way back from the 70 km Medio Fondo. Just before we rejoined Rte. 134 at Shediac, Russ told me he was getting tired and “released” me to go it alone.

I TT’d the last 10 kilometers or so and emptied the tank before I rolled into the parking lot and crossed the finish line, just under 4 hours and 2 minutes; according to my Garmin, 31.97 kilometers per hour. I guess I can round it off at 32! I’ll turn 71 in a few weeks, so that’s not a bad time, considering Russ and I rode almost all the route on our own. He arrived a short time  later, and one of the nice volunteers took our photo. She said her husband was doing the 130 as well: “Y aura pas grand action chez-nous à soir!”, she told me. “Pi chez-nous non plus!” I replied.

Kent joined us as we listened to the excellent two-man group on stage play an impressive répertoire of popular and Acadian songs. Then it was time for the lobster feast, a nice one-pounder with all the fixins’. For those who’ve ridden one, the après-Fondo is an occasion for meeting new people, thanking volunteers, and replaying every kilometer of the ride with whoever will listen!

Gran Fondo Shediac organizers should be very proud of this event. Although perfect weather added greatly to the ambiance, it’s always the smiles on the faces of event organizers and volunteers that do it for me. Shediac is on par with one of my favourite Gran Fondos, Baie-Sainte-Marie. Maybe it’s because of my strong Acadian bias. More likely, it’s the immense pride I feel when I see my people hit it out of the park with an event like this.

En espérant se revoir l’année prochaine!

 

 

FORT MYERS 

It’s time I posted a  blog about Fort Myers, a place that has become our winter home away from home. This entry will be long on photos and short on text.

After I retired in 2013, Elva and I looked for a place where we could warm our bones during the worst months of an Island winter. We considered the southern countries in Europe, maybe one of the Caribbean islands, or Mexico somewhere, but each one seemed to have a drawback or two: not warm enough, too expensive, hard to get around without a car, etc. One day, quite by accident, we found out that a relative had spent a few weeks in a condo in Ft. Myers, FL, that belonged to Elva’s second cousin. He rented only to close family and, lucky for us, second cousin was close enough.

I scouted Ft. Myers on the internet and found the link to the Caloosa Riders Bicycle Club. The group looked tailor-made to our riding styles so we booked the nice condo at Alta-Mar on Palm Beach Blvd. and headed south in a snowstorm one day in January 2016.

We felt at home as soon as we crossed the threshold of our two-bedroom condo and we spent an enjoyable month there getting to know the area and rolling with fellow riders. We had a nice view of the pool and the Caloosahatchee River from the condo’s balcony.

We soon discovered Ft. Myers’ historic downtown, just a fifteen-minute walk away. Its beautiful older buildings are protected by heritage bylaws, similar to rules in effect in our own city, Charlottetown. Streets are lined with the distinctive and majestic Royal Palms. Downtown has the kind of buzz we like: lots of good places to eat, activities almost every weekend, and a Starbucks on First Street! The city closes down several blocks when hosting a special event, sometimes an art show, sometimes a car show, other times a musical event featuring several bands. A band plays every Saturday evening in Bootleggers’ Alley, another of our favourite haunts. We’ve christened our evening strolls “The Losers’ Walk”, just like the one we take almost every evening back home, because most times we get entertained for free!

Ten years ago, the city commissioned 23 metal statues by Columbian artist Edgardo Carmona. There’s the ribbon dancer, the chess players, the juggler, the man peeing on a post, and many others. They are a great addition to the downtown landscape.

We’ve hosted family and friends in our southern home. Our cycling friends from the Island, Ira and Liz, visited in 2017.

Lana and Bob Waugh live just north of Ft. Myers and we’ve exchanged visits and stories every year we’ve come to Florida.

Jacques, Isabelle and Lucie visited in 2019 and we spent a few days at Disneyworld. I love the look of terror on Elva’s face…

This year, we hosted Réjeanne Arsenault and Richard Goguen who were on their way to Ft. Lauderdale to board a Caribbean cruise.

Ft. Myers Beach is another of our favourite haunts. The beach and the pier were busy places when we first came south in 2016.

The town of Ft. Myers Beach is located on a barrier island, a sandbar basically. Hurricane Ian made landfall there in September 2022, burying everything under a fifteen-foot storm surge. Buildings were swept away and many that remained standing are beyond repair. The once-busy pier, which today looks like a cross between Stonehenge and the Confederation Bridge, has been transformed into the resident pelicans’ preferred perch.

While a few brave entrepreneurs seem determined to rebuild, many property owners have simply walked away. It will be interesting to see what Ft. Myers Beach will look like in ten years. Check out the toilet hanging off the edge of the second floor in the first photo. The second shows all that’s left of a shoreside cottage and a “For Sale” sign advertising lots.

We’ve ridden many miles with the Caloosa Riders Bicycle Club and have made friends here. We’ve seen changes since 2016, traffic is much worse than it was and some folks have stopped riding, moved away or, sadly, passed away. Still, there is much to enjoy in the shared effort, the fresh air, the camaderie, and the mandatory post-ride coffee. The first photo was taken several years ago at the halfway point of our Cape Coral ride at the Coral Oaks Golf Club. The second was taken on April 9, 2024, at the same location, the day we enjoyed our last ride of the year with our good friends, Laurie and Brett Lockerbie from Kingston, Ontario.

We’ve booked a place in Poinsettia Park for 2025 and will keep coming back to this part of the world for as long as our health allows, a good many years, hopefully, and enjoy seeing the sun set over the Caloosahatchee River.

“It’s easy to get old.

It’s staying young that’s hard.”

Jean-Paul Arsenault