The last few weeks have been tough. The Chinese might say that Christine and I are living in “interesting times”.

Her 101.5 year old Father recently passed away. Earlier this week we traveled to be at my 94yo Mother’s side as she faces end-of-life issues that have taken her from the home she loves into skilled nursing care and Hospice. Her nephrologist opines, “2 weeks, maybe 2 months… but it will be a peaceful passing.” Christine is home uncomfortably recovering from shoulder surgery that occurred yesterday and I have an orthopedic consult on Monday for a similar problem. As with so many others, we have both taken “social distancing” to heart courtesy of covid-19. For us this means temporarily becoming “virtual parents and grandparents” via Facetime.

I find that I am drawn to each “breaking story” of the emerging pandemic. A few years ago I read an excellent book, “The Great Influenza”, by John M. Garry, that chronicled the Spanish Influenza Pandemic of 1918.

My interest in those events is not casual as it has spanned decades to my pre-teen years. In the early 1960’s my family lived in South Holland, Illinois. At that time it was deemed the “Onion Set Capital of the World”. Instead of the rows of subdivision houses that now define that community there were endless rows of onion sets growing in expansive farm fields.

 

Migrant workers annually swelled the little community and briefly caused a shift in the demographics from primarily Dutch immigrant roots to Mexican ones. I ran those fields and explored the forests beyond. It was in those woods near Thornton Illinois that I came upon a long forgotten cemetery.

Then there was barely a hint of a road through an overgrowth of saplings, vines, and trees. However, among the thicket I saw an irregular array of tombstones. Some from as early as 1910 and others dating to the late 1920’s. What captured my attention were the dozens of graves that dated to around 1918, most of which were younger adults and children.
Returning home I told my parents of my “find” but drew little interest and no information from them. The South Holland Public Library (where I was a “frequent flyer”) offered no insights. It was not until years later that I learned of the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic and connected the dots to that abandoned cemetery.

The internet provided a little more information: Mount Forest Cemetery was founded in 1909 as a Negro cemetery at the southern extreme of Cook County. It closed in 1939. During the pandemic of 1918 a portion of the cemetery became a potter’s field for some of Chicago’s African American influenza victims.


(All images in this post are from the internet.)

Statistics, whether about the Spanish Influenza Pandemic or covid-19 are faceless and nameless. In 1918 the world population was 1.9 billion, with the United States population standing at about 105 million. Today, those numbers are about 7.7 billion and 350 million respectively.

In 1918 nearly a third of the world population is believed to have contracted the virus and the mortality rate is estimated to have been around 3 percent. Covid-19 is believed to have a 2 percent mortality rate. I have heard folks say that 2 percent is no big deal. However, when one applies that to current population figures a different image emerges.
Estimates place the world death toll in 1918 at up to 50 million.

The United States suffered over 500,000 deaths. Covid-19 seems to be just as contagious but slightly less deadly. Nevertheless, with a population density that is 4 times greater than in 1918 it is little wonder that health experts have been alarmed from the beginning. If 30 percent of 350 million become infected and there is a 2 percent mortality rate then the bottom line reads 2 million Americans might perish. What these “numbers” fail to take into account is the impact upon the lives of those who spend weeks and months struggling through recovery, unable to work. Approximately 30 million Americans are without health insurance. For them a health crisis is also a financial one. We face a health care system likely burdened beyond its capacity.

While the “statistics” are sobering, it is my memory of that cemetery that remains foremost in my thoughts. Each one of those tombstones was a real person and behind that person stood a grief-stricken family.

Prudence dictates that we listen to the experts… take to heart the mantras of “social distancing” and conscientious attention to hygiene. In 1918 Philadelphia and St. Louis were the 3rd and 4th largest cities in the United States. In the face of that emerging epidemic they took polar opposite approaches to the contagion. St. Louis imposed a shutdown of large events and gatherings. Philly hosted a huge War Bond Parade (over 200,000 in attendance) that became a hotspot for community contamination. More than 12,000 died of influenza in Philadelphia while the toll in St. Louis was 700.

Prudence is not panic. Panic is a shopper mindlessly buying a basket full of toilet paper that they have no logical need for.

Panic is shelves being emptied of every form of canned good in a frenzy of impulse shopping. Again, the lessons of 1918 can be instructive. The virus will run its course. There will be disruptions, but it will not be apocalyptic. Panic buying does nothing tangibly beneficial for the shopper, but damages those who might need just a few rolls of that TP. Panic is a sad but understandable feature of what occurs when we abandon our consideration for others to join the stampeding herd.

Then there are the profiteers: Stories are surfacing of those who seek to turn social misfortune into personal gain. There is the “entrepreneur” who saw an opportunity to make it big by driving 1,500 miles and stopping en route at every pharmacy, Walmart, Target, and “Dollar” type store that he passed. He bought over 17,000 small bottles of hand sanitizer at a cost of a dollar or two each and then began reselling them on Amazon for up to $70.00 apiece. This outrageous example of gouging resulted in Amazon quickly closing his account. Now he is stuck with all of those dispensers while others in need of the product go wanting.


There is the “Christian” televangelist who sells toothpaste on his website, implying that it will immunize the user from covid-19… and the popular internet conspiracy pundit who preys upon his listeners by peddling phony virus “cures”. What of the “talking heads” who make brash and irresponsible claims for the purpose of stirring up controversy to drive up their ratings?
These are the human viruses that infect our society and for which there will never be a vaccine or a lasting cure.

Peace Everyone… and don’t forget to wash your hands. Pete

PS. A metaphor: Walking through a forest with his eyes closed a man bumps into a tree now and then. He is unaware of the forest that surrounds him until he opens his eyes. Without broad testing of the public we remain ignorant of the extent of covid-19 infections that run through our communities, aware only of those most critically ill.

I am writing this in the pre-dawn hours of Thursday, December 12th. Our flight takes off tonight at 10 p.m. for Dallas-Fort Worth, followed by a layover and connecting flight to Kansas City. This will be a brutal 28 hours in transit, on par with the 24-36 hours that some of our friends have had to endure as they traveled home from Chile to Colorado, Oregon, Minnesota, or Canada. Not exactly a silver lining.

Santiago is one of the largest cities in the Americas. It has not changed since our arrival on the 9th, but our impressions of it have. Two full days and two half days were barely enough time to take the pulse of the 2 or 3 Barrios that we have wandered about, but it was enough time for us to adapt and become charmed. Our travel was exclusively on foot, averaging nearly 10 miles each day. It was good to walk after the more sedentary experience aboard ship. This morning our friend Kris posted a Latin phrase, “Solvitur ambulando” which loosely translates into “It is solved by walking”. That describes our experience of the last few days.

We made Wednesday into a walking tour. Nothing in depth, no museums, no cultural centers, virtually nothing inside… just walking and taking it in…

A literal highlight of the experience was ascending Santa Lucia Hill, enjoying its gardens, pathways, and the spectacular view of the city from the top. The Andes Mountains were barely discernible rising above the urban haze.

We peeked inside the 18th century Colonial era church, Iglesia San Agustin, which is one of the oldest buildings in Santiago. It has successfully withstood a number of devastating earthquakes.

We wandered by the Presidential Palace…

The Municipal Theater…

Through market lined boulevards…

…and throngs of humanity.

We returned to Food Park Tepeyak and tried out different vendors. The food was excellent and I enjoyed the candid sight of Christine consulting “Mr. Google” to translate a menu.

After siesta time we returned to Barrio Brasil where we intended to take in a splurge dinner at a highly regarded restaurant. It was closed. However, as we continued walking we were drawn to an unusual edifice bearing the name, Ocean Pacific. A seafood restaurant that also serves land proteins (after all, this is Chile!).

In English, a rugged looking gentleman in sailor’s attire bid us enter, We did, and it just got better and better. The “sailor” was Rikardo and his smile only hinted at his larger-than-life personality. He was assisted by the equally charming Mercedes who apologized repeatedly for her poor (it was excellent) English.

We placed ourselves into their capable hands and allowed them to virtually select our wine, main dishes, and sides. It was a fun experience that included camaraderie and excellent cuisine. This was beyond any expectation that we had held for a final meal in Santiago, and a real silver lining to the intended but closed first choice.

In retrospect, these 4 days have been filled with “silver linings”. One must just be open to seeing them.

Our “hotel”, turned out to be a less than distinguished apartment. However, it was clean and the location could not be better. No air conditioning, but there was a fan and the evenings cooled quickly from 90 degrees to the 60’s. The desert-like dryness rendered the daytime temps very tolerable.

Traffic was constant, but drivers obeyed the pedestrian signals so negotiating intersections proved safe. A feature of some of the signs is that the “walk” figure becomes an animated running figure when the signal nears the end of the cycle. It made us smile.

We found that the city gave us helpful people at the right moments. A history professor, a taxi driver, a protester, and even a pedestrian who cautioned me to keep my camera secured.

Even the police and military personnel proved friendly to us.

The food was good… the beer was good, and so was the wine.

These and other “silver linings” more than eclipsed any thoughts that we originally held of “dark clouds” in this city.

This may be my final post from this journey. Like virtually all large cities Santiago’s first impression can be overwhelming, impersonal, and uncaring. However, under the examination of opened eyes and an open mind one becomes aware of children laughing in the parks… toddlers testing the limits of their parents’ resolve for their safety… teens happily jamming to their tunes… lovers (young and old) holding hands and exchanging an occasional kiss. There are “suits” hustling to and from work, partially eaten sandwiches in hand… and beggars with hands out in search of coins for their next meal or next bottle. Vendors eye pedestrians with anticipation for the potential customer and suspicion of the possible thief. Life lived by millions, played out one person at a time.

Once again in a far-away place we have found what is familiar.

Peace Everyone. Pete

Ask any experienced mariner to list the 5 most iconic sailing experiences in the world and I daresay that “Rounding the Horn” will appear on every list… perhaps at the top.

Cape Horn is the southernmost point of Tierra del Fuego, Chile, and is deemed the place where the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans meet. It is legendary for presenting navigators with precipitous waves and gale force winds. The 40th southern parallel has often been referred to at “the roaring forties”, the 50th southern parallel as “the furious fifties”, and the 60’s as “the screaming sixties”. Understandable since there is little in the way of land mass to abate the prevailing winds that circle the globe. Cape Horn is located 56 degrees south. There are no land masses to resist the winds until Antarctica, 500 miles to the south. That “gap” between continents has the effect of funneling and further concentrating the winds. Compounding this is the rise in the sea floor that similarly magnifies the already steep prevailing waves. It is not uncommon for “rogue waves” of 90 feet or more to catch a ship unawares with dire consequences.

King Neptune gave us a taste of the Cape Horn “experience”…

We encountered driving rain and sleet interspersed with moments of breaking clouds and the hint of blue skies above. Winds were fickle, often changing direction and at times whipping the wavetops into a foam that was then driven as streaks across the water.

We never felt threatened but the likes of Joshua Slocum (first solo circumnavigation 1885) and Richard Henry Dana (“Two Years Before the Mast”, 1840) were near in my thoughts.

The opening of the Panama Canal in 1914 eliminated the route of the Horn for all but adventurers and the largest merchant ships. United States WW2 battle ships (Iowa Class) were designed to (just) fit the canal with only inches of width to spare.

Incredibly, there is a landing dock at Cape Horn lighthouse with a visitors center.

A monument is in place given to the memory of mariners who have lost their lives attempting the passage. The gleaming steel sculpture is in two pieces that when viewed create the image of a soaring Albatross. Keepers of the lighthouse sign on with their family for 12 month tours of duty.

The following day, November 28th, we reentered the Beagle Channel and made our way down the “Avenue of Glaciers”. The entire day was a procession of one majestic ice cliff after another.

Chile and Argentina’s Southern Patagonian Ice Fields are the second largest contiguous non-polar ice mass in the world. Over 4,700 square miles are situated in Chile and nearly 1,000 in Argentina. The Ice Field feeds hundreds of glaciers. Our passage took in close views of 5 of these, and culminated in the astounding Garibaldi Fjord and Glacier where our ship spent the better part of 2 hours within feet of the cliff walls and glacier.

The ship sent out a tender and crew to “capture” some of the ice that had calved.

One chunk weighed over 700 pounds and is currently on display shipboard.

Perhaps the adventurous can convince the Ship Steward to shave a bit off to cool a gin and tonic. There are some small pieces of debris locked in the blue crystalline ice… they have been there for over 15,000 years. It’s about time they were liberated.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Glaciers are considered one of the most accurate long term indicators of climate change. During our 2017 visit to Juneau’s Mendenhall Glacier we saw incredible evidence of that glacier’s retreat. Similarly we learned from the Park Rangers at Glacier National Park that by the year 2025 the Park’s last glacier will be gone. The Southern Patagonian Ice Sheet is also in decline.

To use a metaphor… Huge oceangoing ships require many miles to arrest their speed or change course. A Captain must begin executing the change far in advance of the distant threat to navigation. The magnitude and inertia of climate is like that of a ship. If one waits to act until the dangers become obvious or acute, it will already be too late.

One of the featured shore excursions that Viking offered as an option was a trip to the Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego (National Park of Tierra del Fuego). We have learned that the ship arranged outings can often be duplicated through the local vendors at a fraction of the cost. Most passengers prefer the ease of just “letting Viking do it”, but for us there is an added element of adventure in striking out on our own.

The Viking arranged tour of Parque Nacional cost $100 US per person. We were able to take a local bus to the Park, pay our admission, and be free to explore without adhering to a group schedule for $25 US each.

In one sense this park is not to be compared with “Yellowstone”. There is a humble visitors center and cafeteria. But with the exception of the one gravel road into the park and one trailer with bathroom facilities, there are no visitor conveniences.

In another sense this National Park compares quite favorably with Yellowstone. The scenery is spectacular!

Christine and I spent a couple of hours hiking together. She then returned to the visitors center to relax with her book which gave me license to pursue a hike at my chosen speed. 10 miles and I had covered enough of the trails to give me a deep sense of accomplishment.

The Park was established in 1960 and contains 243 square miles of pristine Patagonian and subarctic forest. This is the region of the southern terminus of the Andes Mountains. The scenery is breathtaking!

There are 20 species of land mammals and 90 species of birds that call the Park home. There are no animals that might be considered a threat to humans, however a number of “exotic” (non-native) species have been introduced to the Park and become invasive threats to the native flora and fauna. These include the Muskrat, European Rabbit, and North American Beaver.

Due to the extreme southern latitude, tree line is only 2,000 feet above sea level. The demarcation between forest and tundra is striking.

The southern Park boundary is the shoreline of the Beagle Channel. At lower elevations nearing the Channel the climate is moderated by the water. Average winter temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit. The Summer average is 50 degrees. Average annual rainfall is a very wet 28 inches. There is no dry season.

Our good fortune provided us with a day that was sunny and mild. My hike took me to the terminus of National Route 3 that connects the southernmost part of a Patagonia to Buenos Aires which is 3,094 km to the north. Antarctica is a little less than 1,000 km to the south.

I continued on to the southwestern park boundary which is (literally) a stones throw from Chile and is marked by a navigational beacon.

The Beagle Channel extends east to west for approximately 240 km. The Channel is named after the HMS Beagle which in 1833 explored these waters with its equally famous passenger, Charles Darwin.

For the 10,000 years preceding Darwin’s visit the region had been home to the indigenous Yaghan people. Their adaptation to the environment is nothing short of amazing. It is believed that their base metabolisms were significantly higher than those of most northern humans. They fueled themselves with a calorie dense diet that was high in fats from the sea lions that they hunted. They smeared their bodies with animal fat for further protection and constantly maintained open hearth fires which at night gave the shores of the Channel the eerie appearance of being a land on fire. Thus the name, Tierra del Fuego.

The Yaghan had also learned that clothing was both impractical and dangerous. The constant rains meant that clothing would remain wet and contribute to hypothermia. Naked skin dried quickly and therefore to the amazement and consternation of the European settlers and missionaries the Yaghan spent most of their time naked.

It is estimated that there were over 3,000 Yaghan at the time that missionaries arrived in the 1880’s. The virtual extinction of the tribe soon followed due to European borne diseases, the overhunting of traditional Yaghan food sources, and the intolerance of Yaghan customs and traditions.

Hindsight allows us the luxury of an “enlightened” perspective. We may be critical of the intolerance of the settlers and missionaries. However, to have suggested at that time the error of European ways would have invited expulsion from the community, or worse. Such has always been the way of the embedded social, economic, and cultural traditions of those who are power.

I find myself wondering what traditions and values that we hold sacred today might become the subject of ridicule by future generations. Could they include…

The huge factory fishing vessels that deplete ocean stocks?…

Our stubborn dependence on fossil fuels?…

The establishment of global supply chains that have the unintended consequences of eliminating varietal diversity and of being a vector for the transmission of blight and disease?…

Or…

The suggestion of any of these things invites reproach as an attack upon the social, economic, and cultural traditions of those who are in power. Perhaps therein lies the answer to my question.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Many of you live outside of the United States. Today in the States is our holiday of Thanksgiving… Christine and I wish each and every one of you, regardless of your country of origin, our best wishes. We hope that you and those who you hold dear in your heart may find a moment today to give thanks for the blessings of your life. You are among the blessings that we celebrate in our life.

This is our third day in Buenos Aires, and our last night at the Recoleta Grand Hotel. Tomorrow we board the Viking Sea where we will make our home for the next 3 weeks. However, we are not through with Buenos Aires as the ship will remain in port for two more nights.

We now know that there is much of this city that we will not see. A few days is hardly enough time to explore the varied neighborhoods of this modern capitol city. We will continue our explorations, but it is doubtful that we will spend much time in any museums or galleries. The weather is fine and the streets are alive!

Shortly after leaving the hotel this morning we stopped to look at a map. Our quest was Cementerio de Recoleta and to seek the grave of Evita Peron. Seeing us, a nice lady and her 11 year old daughter stopped to offer their help. Miai speaks a little English, and relied upon her daughter to lend a hand with translation. Their kindness lead to a 15 minute visit and recommendations for places to buy custom made leather goods. Christine and Miai exchanged contact information. Miai is leaving soon for the States where I hope that she is afforded the same level of hospitality that she extended to us.

A short stroll brought us to the Recoleta park grounds and Cemetery. Today is Sunday so booths featuring local artists and their wares lined the sidewalks for hundreds of yards.

We took in an outdoor cafe for a leisurely lunch in the cool shade of an enormous rubber tree. This one’s limbs extended dozens of yards from the center and required the assistance of iron crutches to keep them elevated above the ground. One such support was supplied by a sculpture of Atlas the Titan. I took a moment to briefly relieve him of some of his burden.

Nearby were street performers giving impromptu Tango lessons. We could not let the opportunity pass. Taking turns we each enjoyed moments of imagined celebrity in the arms of a young Latin dancer. Fortunately, still images are much kinder than any video would have been. Ah, to be young again!

I have always been drawn to cemeteries. I have often wandered among the graves and imagined the life stories that must have been, but are now compressed into little more than a “Born on… Died on…”

The famous Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris France is home to such notables as Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, and of course Jim Morrison of the Doors. It is a small city with tree lined boulevards and family tombs that are like small mansions. Cementerio de Recoleta is its equal on a slightly smaller scale.

Here is a place where The “Who’s Who” of Argentine society is now the “Who Was”. The tombs are among the most elaborate that I have every seen. Many are adorned with beautiful entries, stained glass windows, and doors with artistic brass engravings. One even featured electric coach lights above the door. Much as I looked, I saw no door-knockers.

Some of the tombs extended two or even three stories below the ground. Just inside the doors and “reception” were narrow stairs that gave access the the lower levels.

The grounds were the final resting places of Presidents…

Generals…

Liberators…

Giants of business and finance…

…and of course,

Evita Peron.

All of their celebrity is eclipsed by the tombs of two teenage girls. 19 year old Liliana de Szaszak (1944-1970) died tragically in an avalanche in Austria. It is reputed that her dog, Sabu, was so attached to her that he died in Buenos Aires at the moment of her passing.

Ruffian Cambaceres (1883-1903) was found dead in her bedroom of a suspected heart attack. On the night of her internment a watchman overheard sounds within the family mausoleum. Investigation the next day revealed that the coffin had moved. When the lid was opened scratches were found on the inside surface and all over Rufina’s face and neck. She had been buried alive.

Christine and I once visited an ossuary in Rome Italy. At the entry was a skeleton constructed from the bones of one or more of the departed. It was clothed as a monk and held a sign that declared, “What you are I once was. What I am you will become”.

The cemetery at Pere Lachaise and the one we visited today are final resting places, but they are also monuments to our arrogance. They are displays of wealth, status, and notoriety. They are fictions to a belief that we as legends live on forever.

Many of the tombs have become metaphors of the death and decay of those who are within. Fallen plaster, rotting caskets, dust, rust, and tarnish. Death is the great equalizer, and on that happy note…

Peace Everyone. Pete