Above the relentless torrent - Vatican Museums

Shoulder-to- shoulder, breast-to-back, the hoards shuffle through the narrow corridors, eyes down to avoid stepping on heels, occasionally glancing guiltily over each other’s heads at the skilfully carved stone or finely painted maps that decorate the walls of this rigid channel.

Tuned in to the guide’s rapid-fire explanations, they nod automatically – as long as they can hear her on their earbuds, they know she’s within radio range.

In front of priceless Flemish tapestries, monumental figures battling over delicate landscapes; arms raised with iPhones and long-lensed cameras fire flashes that fade the delicate colours.

Logjams gather where families pose for photos with historic frescoes of famous battles and martyrdoms.

Raphael and Fontana, Bernini and Boromeo fail to register.

The relentless flow pushes past a collection of modern art – ignoring Chagalls and Dalis only steps away – and spills through a small doorway into the celebrated Sistine Chapel.

Straining our necks, we peer upward into the vivid colours and taunt muscles of Michelangelo’s angry old God, jostled by the endless flow of new arrivals, assaulted by uniformed guards shouting for silence.

But this time, the Chapel wins out. Despite the restless carpet of upturned faces, the azule-backed Last Judgement swirls hefty nude figures of saints and sinners around a dynamic Christ, stepping out into the soaring space in Renaissance 3D.

If we stop… and take a deep breath. If we block out the bored children and offensive guards … and focus on the massive, fleshy figures emerging from the deep blue wall, they begin to breath. Silken drapery shifts over flexing muscles, fiery eyes seek you out, outstretched arms twitch as the screams of the damned lift above the forbidden tourist din. Michelangelo, this sculptor turned painter, created life on another plane. His genius lifts us up above the shuffling crowd and waving batons of the guides, and for a moment, the indignity is worthwhile.

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Roman October

I lean my head back and close my eyes. The sunlight splashes against my closed lids, dappled by the broad leaves of the plane trees overhead. The hot sun of a Roman October warms my face, tempered by an exquisite chilled breeze.

For minutes I let the sun-shadow patterns play across my lids, then lift my head and look around.

From my perch on top of an open-air tourist bus, I watch the newsreel of Roman monuments move majestically by me.

• The wedding cake monument to Vittorio Emmanuel, first king of a united Italy, starkly white against the endless Mediterranean sky;

• the broad plane of Circus Maximus where roman chariots once raced below the terraces of the Palatine;

• the jewel-like bridges over the Tiber – rhythmic white arches over the swirling dark waters, topped with clusters of carved marble figures;

• the brutish Castel San Angelo , built to be Hadrian’s tomb but fashioned into a defensible Papal retreat;

• the elegant, square-domed synagogue on the banks of the Tiber proclaiming the old Jewish Quarter around Campo de Fiori;

• and at the top of the Via della Conciliazione, grand fascist avenue from the 30s, squats St. Peter’s, its pincher colonnades and regal façade by Bernini drawing the eye into Michelangelo’s magnificent dome.


The bus lumbers through the broad avenues of the Italian capital, under the warm October sun – cruising Via Veneto , Via Cavour, and Via Nazionale, leaving the sights in amongst the tangled alleys – the Pantheon, Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain – for another day.

But the cruising bus gives me a piano nobile view of the magnificent palaces and exquisite churches, the lush umbrella pine trees over picturesque squares, and clustered sidewalk cafes where elegantly dressed romans share space with shorts-clad, t-shirted tourists.


I’ve walked miles in Rome, and have photo-album memories of its main sights. But never before have I sewn it all together, seen the interplay between ancient, renaissance and modern, felt the flow of the neighbourhoods, understood the relationship between Santa Maria Maggiore and St. Peter’s, the Forum and the Coliseum.



Under the sun of a Roman October, the city begins to make sense to me.

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Slipping into an old skin

I’ve been sedentary for 5 months now, settled back into a comfortable routine of work, rowing and occasionally family. The summer in Toronto has flown by in a warm, sunny blur, mostly seen through windows , and autumn rushed in shrouded in dark, heavy rain clouds.

But today, I’m sitting at the airport, my trusty and now worn backpack at my ankle and my old netbook companion balanced on my knees. I feel a warm loosening in my shoulders – tension slowly easing out of my muscles. Why, I wonder, does the hassle of travel feel so good?

When I had returned home from my southern hemisphere travels this spring, I had been surprised by the speed with which I had re-acclimatized. I was back at work and happily writing reports within days. Had the vagabond feeling of the world traveller evaporated so quickly?

“It must be hard to be back”, friends and colleagues announced. Nope.

According to Michelle, my penpal/sister in Argentina, the transition was eased because I had been able to create two “me’s” – a notion I relish. I’ve come to call them ‘home Jordan’ and ‘travel Jordan’. Rather than having to re-adapt to life on the road, I simply slip into my other ‘me’ and I’m on my way.

So today, I’m heading off to Rome with a few pieces of clothing in my backpack, and 9 days to meander. Coming with me on my journey, my partner and seasoned fellow-traveller Francisco, and his mother and aunt –both happily warbling about seeing the Vatican.







Photo: Francisco and his mother keep "Thor" company at the airport.

el verano esta en pleno apogeo - the full flowering of summer

It's the most beautiful of sunny summer days here in Toronto, and I think of my friend Michelle, in her mountain village in Argentina, probably huddled over a heater drinking something hot and dreaming of the weather I'm now enjoying.

It's quarter-end at work and management is in full-planning mode. But today is a day to forget all of that. I've pulled out my camping gear (tent, thermarest, sleeping bag, mess kit, water bottle, tent), some of it unused in 20 years. Tomorrow I head out on a canoe trip with my sister. Just 3 days paddling the Rideau system near our cottage, but still a carefree float over crystal blue waters, amongst worn pink granite and towering emerald pines. Camping beside 180 year old canal locks built by a British empire nervous about a newly independent United States.

We'll cook breakfast oatmeal over a small gas burner, munch on nuts and raisins as we drift by stately family summer homes, rinse off in quiet rocky coves and wander into small mill towns to eat dinner at quaint, trendy summer eateries. It may rain, the winds may blow. But it'll be a perfect, mid-summer escape from the baked, 4-lane asphalt avenues of the big city.

I'll try to project some of the warmth and sunshine I'm enjoying so Michelle can escape, for at least a few minutes, the cool Argentine winter.

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The Chilean Ash Cloud

I noticed, amongst the news stories of the ash cloud from the Chilean volcano that is now disrupting air travel in the southern hemisphere, that the Argentine tourist town of Villa Angostura is amongst the most heavily hit... with snowplows trying to move 30 cm of ash that covers everything. The name sounded familiar.

I checked the map... the volcano (Puyehue-Cordon Caulle volcanic complex) is just across the border from San Carlos de Bariloche - where I rode horses at "Cabalgate Carol Jones" and rowed on Lago Nahuel Huapi and from San Martin de los Andes where I rented a car for my trip up to the Volcan Lanin! Check out my photos from March and you'll see the verdant forests and sparkling blue lakes of this region. Then imagine it all buried and clogged by heavy gray volcanic ash.

How transitory the earth's beauty can be...

From Mendoza into the Heart of the Andes

The Andes are South America’s spine, a spiked belt of mountains running from the Panamanian isthmus to Tierra del Fuego, and resurfacing again on Antarctica. They split the continent in two, with a ribbon of coastal nations to the west – Ecuador, Peru and Chile – and the monolithic states of Brazil and Argentina to the east.

I’d skipped my way down the range, from the dry altiplano north of Salta, through the picturesque lake district at Bariloche and the spectacular glaciated peaks at El Calafate to the outpost islands at the continent’s southern tip in Ushuaia.

But it is along the valleys between Mendoza, Argentina and Santiago de Chile that they most impressed me.

Cutting a 200+ km cross-section of the Andes, the road threads its way up a wide, glaciated valley between raw, red peaks that scrape the cirrus and blue sky. A braided river cuts a deep trench through the glacier detritus and skirts immense talus slopes.

An abandoned rail line – a victim to geo-political animosity – appears in shattered fragments by the river’s edge. Occasional plans to resurrect it are short-lived election promises.

Climbing further, late autumn snows dust the peaks near the high altitude ski area called Los Penitentes – a colourful cluster of buildings set against a wide-open, rocky mountain side hungrily awaiting the deep drifts of winter. The skiers amongst us snap photos and dream of sweeping slalom turns on pristine Andean snows.

The curious natural formation called the Inca Bridge, and an abandoned spa coated in a mucous of mineral salts, is an obligatory tourist stop, but the mountain backdrop is the main attraction.

At this point, on the border with Chile, the Andes climb to their loftiest peak – the spectacular, snow-clad Aconcagua, highest point outside of the Himalayas.

Intrepid mountaineers can summit in 15 days, conquering another peak on a checklist that includes Everest, Kilimanjaro, Mont Blanc and McKinley. Less intrepid, we opt for the one-hour trail through a mountain meadow on the great mountain’s flank to capture cloud-draped images.

Trucks, busses and kamikaze Chilean drivers whizz by on their way to Pacific destinations, but we turn around and skim back down the Argentine side to Mendoza, soaking in the play of rosy sunset and dark cloud shadows on the rugged rock faces around us.

If this is just a single cross-section, a microscope-slide slice of the Andes, our imaginations struggle to grasp the scope of this continent cleaving range.

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Mendoza - Wine from the Desert

On the dry plains at the foot of the mighty Andes, Mendoza has built a world-renowned wine industry. Crystal clean melt water from the mountain snows is channelled across the desert and fed to vines with eye-dropper accuracy. Malbec, Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc are coaxed from the rocky soil on vineyards that range from 900 meters above sea level to a lung-straining 1800 meters.


Warm, dry, sunny days increase sugar levels and eliminate fungus and bugs. Cool nights optimize acidity levels. The ancient volcanic soils impart warm, spicy, earthy aromas.


The bodegas (wineries) – ranging from small family holdings to huge multi-national corporations – use relatively inexpensive local labour to hand-pick the grapes and sophisticated European and Argentine expertise to produce consistently high quality wines. With a well-deserved international reputation, the Mendoza region produces 70% of Argentina’s wine.


So of course the visitor to Mendoza must do the rounds. With over 600 wineries operating in the region, a guide/driver is the safest approach.



The son of our B&B’s owner runs tours and the four of us signed up for a whirlwind visit to 4 establishments: Carinae, Alta Vista, Ruca Malen and Santo Domingo. Ranging from world-wide exporters with extensive subterranean cellars to a tiny one-family operation that supplies a few local restaurants, the bodegas we visited gave us a terrific overview of the Mendoza wine industry.

The highlight was a 5-course lunch, paired with 6 wines, in a stunning dining pavilion with a panoramic view of the vineyards and the snow-capped Andes.


Light sparkling wine, floral and fruity whites, full bodied reds were paired with several delicate appetizers, with a tender slab of red meat and grilled vegetables, with a pretty little dessert.

The wineries get most of the attention, but the town of Mendoza is alluring on its own. Despite its desert location, it is a city of leafy green squares, gushing fountains, impressive monuments and terrific restaurants.


In the evenings, its pedestrian malls and broad sidewalks bustle with activity. Shops are full of inexpensive local leather products. We’re told there’s a lively nightlife as well, but after tasting 15 or 16 wines in one day, we were unlikely to experience it personally.

It would be easy to spend several days exploring the town and wineries, but there was one more expedition we had to undertake - a trek into the highest peaks of the Andes - just a few hours to the east...


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* Vines, visit, meat and fountain photos by Dad.

The Magic of Iguazu Falls

Standing in the face of the thundering falls, the immensity of the Parana River plunging over a sheer drop a mere 50 feet in front of me. Brown water curving over the lip above and slowing, falling, expanding, turning white against the cerulean sky. Crashing into the rocks, the river below boiling, violent whirls.

Hearing… no, feeling the thunder, the booming pressure of the falling water through my whole being. Tasting the relentless cooling spray, clean and sweet. Soaking me, bathing me, stealing my breath until I turn away.

Turning to scan the faces of the cascade; curtains and ribbons of falling water interlaced with spires of black, wet rock and softened by mats of wet moss, receding in regal formation into the white mist.

The immense power and noise of Iguazu Falls is impossible to imagine. Higher and many times broader (more than 2 km from shore to shore) than Niagara Falls, they interrupt the broad Parana River in the tropical rainforest where Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay meet.

Islands and rock outcroppings split the face of the falls into hundreds of individual cataracts. Sunshine and mist decorate the chasm below with permanent rainbows.

Creative engineers have constructed solid steel walkways that carry you along the lip of the falls and in one spectacular triumph of design, let you stand and get soaked within kissing distance of the face of falling water.

In a gentle counter-balance to the raw power of the water, the sun and mist also create a perfect environment for butterflies - a confetti of gently fluttering colour challenging the photographer to capture their patterns when they land briefly on hats, arms and pathways.

Iguazu is magic in the warm heart of South America.

(Butterfly photos by Dad)

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The Family Arrives!

Travelling alone is easy. You follow your own nose, changing directions on a whim, adding new adventures as they appear. If you choose to, you can find an isolated perch and contemplate a vista for as long as you want, plunge into a milonga to try a few tango steps, or strike up a conversation with the elegant woman sipping a gin and tonic* under a Baobab tree.


But beauty and adventure can be amplified when shared. I was thrilled when Francisco and Mom and Dad appeared through the sliding doors at the airport to join me on my last two weeks in Argentina.


By the time they arrived, I had a full agenda set up – a whirlwind tour of Buenos Aires, a flying visit to Iguazu Falls on the Brazilian border, a summersault over to Mendoza for some wine tasting and a trek into the heart of the Andes, and a boat trip across the Rio de la Plata to lovely little Colonia del Sacremento in Uruguay.


I did have one important question for them: the beard… does it stay or does it go?

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* One of the happiest path-crossings of my travels!.

A return my type of food

I've now settled into my beautiful rented apartment in Recoleta and for the first time since the end of September, I have an empty refrigerator all to myself. After almost 7 months of eating what's on the menu, I can finally buy and eat exactly what I want. Oh, the pure, unadulterated joy of pushing a shopping cart through the produce section of an urban supermarket and picking up crisp green lettuce, firm red tomatoes, crunchy delicious apples, entire carrots... and hefting big jugs of milk and real orange juice into my knapsack. The thrill of sitting in my light-filled little dining area and eating a breakfast of crunchy granola cereal, real milk and fresh fruit rather than butter-soaked media-lunas and jam-slathered cold toasts. Granted I'd forgotten that my own kitchen means washing my own dishes. A fair trade-off, I'd say. - 30 -

The Beaches of Uruguay

After almost 5 weeks of travel, I thought a few days on the beach would do me good. With almost 300 km of sand beaches between Montevideo and the Brazilian border, Uruguay has lots to offer - everything from "jet-set" Punta del Este to the isolated dunes of Cabo Polonia. Of course, it's early autumn here. The winds are stiff, the air cool, and of course I encountered the only day of torrential rain during my entire trip. But it did give me a chance to explore. Here are the beaches I visited on my quick trip along the coast. Heading north from Montevideo, the first sizable town you encounter is the 1930s resort town of Piriapolis, built and owned by chemist/entrepreneur Francisco Peria. Centered around his massive Hotel Argentino and nestled up against some of Uruguay's highest hills, it has a mediterranean feel to it. In its heyday, it was host to the wealthy, royal and famous. Today, it has more of a family feel. It's my favourite beach town on the strip.

The famous Punta del Este is a narrow neck of land, its straight grid of streets lined with luxury stores and glossy apartment towers. A small harbour houses expensive yachts. The windward side of town is home to the international surfer set while the leeward side (left) is where you'll see the buffest bodies, tiniest bikinis and some serious bling.

Punta del Este may offer only narrow strips of sand between the broad 'ramblas' (oceanside drives) and the sea, but deserted beaches are a half-hour drive away. This is Chihuahua beach on the right - isolated, nudist, and apparently gay.

Of course, on a rainy day, off season, the wave provide the only 'action'.

Jose Ignacio is Punta del Este's elegant little brother - a cluster of very expensive, architect-designed homes on a rocky out-cropping a few miles north. The only commercial offices in town sell real estate. Dream houses, block after block...

I settled down for two nights at

La Pedrera, just north of La

Paloma. It is tiny down on a small outcropping (right) overlooking a broad shallow beach. I'm told it attracts a more 'artistic' crowd. There's even a jazz festival here in the summer.

Heading north, on a drizzly autumn day, I approached the splendid isolation of Cabo Polonia. It is asscessible only on foot (a 7 km walk) or by massive "4-wheel drive" trucks that act as public transit from the highway. Accommodation would be very basic - the town has no electricity.

The closest you can get to Cabo Polonia on the road, is a sprawling, ramshakle hippie settlement called Barras de Valizas. It doesn't even show up on most tourist maps. Here's a photo of one of the beach front cabins waiting for the approaching storm.

Heading further north, the town of Aguas Dulces nestles into the sand dunes, endless stretches of dunes that march north towards Punto del Diable - famous among surfing aficianados - and the Brazilian border. It's a place like this where you could find yourself alone with your thoughts.

As much as I loved the northern Uruguayo beaches - the sea, sand and tranquility - it was time to head back to civilization. I had a ticket on a Friday night Buquebus (ferry) from Montevideo to Buenos Aires, and a rental apartment in Recoleta waiting for me. Francisco and my parents arrive a week later to share the last two weeks of my Argentine adventure with me.

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