Episode Four - South American adventure continues, rescue by a good Samaritan

We continue with our South American adventure, 1969.

The rain turned into a downpour and half of our group in the back of the truck was soaked.

Two of the women and I got out and started hitchhiking, standing in the pouring rain on some road “from here to nowhere” with only the headlights on our truck lighting a few feet of the road.

After awhile, a car stopped.  We couldn’t believe it – a black Mercedes!  (They seem to love Mercedes in South America.)

A well-dressed gentleman opened the window slightly. “Que pasa?” he asked.  “What’s the matter?” It turned out he was the former Mayor of Guyaquil.

When he heard we were the hapless victims of the “Cristobal Carrier” he immediately became helpful; he had already heard of the calamity on the car radio.

Realizing we were stranded (again!), he said to get in the car, in the back.  I went back first to our group, huddled in the truck, that we’d be back, we were going to find some gasoline. No one believed us!  Small wonder.  Middle of the night, pouring rain, just coming off a shipwreck .. no way I’d return with the gasoline!

My companion in the back seat was a large German shepherd who growled at me until the Senor ordered “Calma!” He knew people who lived further up the highway and who might be able to supply us with some gasoline. 

After a while the Mercedes stopped at a metal gate.

I was told to go and ring a long iron “cord” which needed to be pulled several times.  It must have been around 1 a.m. by now.

Finally in the distance two dim lights appeared. A native Indians appeared, looking almost Chinese. He carried a lantern, his long braid swaying in the wind. (No, I was not hallucinating!)

This gentleman was not amused someone had awoken him at this hour.  Then I pointed to the Mercedes and the fellow seemed satisfied.  He knew the driver.  I asked for some gasoline, and he slowly turned around and went back along the long path to his house. 

It seemed like hours, but 15 minutes later he returned with a large yellow can, full of gasoline.  This is what I refer to as Miracle Number Three.

“Quanto?” I asked.  “Nada, paga un otra vez.”  (“Nothing, pay us some other time”.)

And so it seemed as if we had stepped into the twilight zone of some fairy tale.  We returned to the truck where most of the group was sleeping.

 As soon as one of them spotted the can of gasoline gave a huge Hurrah! and applauded.  Not to mention the astonished look on the face of the truck driver!

My mentor friend and I carried on in the Mercedes and arrived at the Humboldt Hotel very early on Monday morning.

Humboldt Hotel

During our ride in the car, the radio was repeatedly broadcasting on the national news the disaster that had befallen the legendary ‘Cristobal Carrier’ en route to the Galapagos.

The former Mayor seemed to be pleased to have had a hand in getting us all safely back to the Humboldt Hotel.

Next:  the final Episode, coming up.

Episode Five: recovering our losses, and a train trip to the roof of the Andes

Following up the fourth episode in our Galapagos story, 1969:

After breakfast, we called an urgent meeting.   We wanted all the money refunded that we’d paid for the voyage.  ‘Believe it was $450 US per person. (In today’s dollars, that’s just over $3,000.)  And, we asked the money all be in small notes.

Mission impossible?  First thing, we had to find out who owned the ‘Cristobal Carrier’, or the ship’s agents.

In the meanwhile, both local newspapers had printed a tearjerker of story, “It was a foggy night, and I could not see a hand in front of me”; the Captain was quoted as saying.

Foggy? The stars were sparkling in a clear night sky.  And when I got up to the bridge, there was no one there. Furthermore there were two small lighthouses at each end of the island.

So I called the media.  Two reporters, one from each of the two local newspapers, showed up at the Humboldt Hotel.  We told them the real story.  They printed it. (We still have the articles.)

Now, mission $$$.  I called the various consulates and embassies (American, Canadian, Swiss, German, etc.) but it was Monday and their offices were all closed.

It turned out the ship was registered under various names and we had a heck of a time trying to find the party responsible and who could authorize the refunds, in US dollars.

By now, nobody believed the Captain and second mate any longer.  The print media were on our side, so was the radio.

Cornered and nowhere to turn, the owner’s representative arranged for the local bank to fork over all of our money – mostly in five dollar bills as we’d requested.  I had bought a large leather shoulder bag, and stacked it full of the refunded dollars. In triumph and with a big smile, I returned to the Hotel.

It was now Thursday.  Each and every one received their ship fare back. Now, what to do with all our extra time? People had return flights home but not for awhile.

I had noticed a sign somewhere that the “Da Vinci”, an Italian passenger ship, would be in port the next day en route to Gallao, Peru.  I found the ship’s agent who told me there was room for only six passengers. 

So six of us sailed aboard “Da Vinci” and the rest went by bus. We would meet in Lima, Peru, actually Cuzco, since the plan was to go from Cuzco to Machu Picchu. From Lima we took the train up to the final stop very high up in the Andes – Huancao, I believe.

This train ride was something else! (See my blog post for more details about this train trip.)  At least three dozen times we shunted back and forth in order to gain the higher altitudes.  A superb feat of engineering.  Later I was reminded of this train trip when we boarded the “toy train” en route to Darjeeling in India, same principle.

El Tren del Sol

The train was called “El Tren del Sol” because two hours of out Lima, we were over the clouds into a sunny blue sky and clear air. Because of the altitude the train carried oxygen tanks.

From the train station we took a bus to Cuzco with its amazing walls built of huge boulders fitted perfectly together – still a mystery today how this was achieved.

 After visiting Cuzco and Oleobamba, we took another train to Macchu Picchu.  A new world, another era.   (This was 1969, long before the site became the heavily-visited tourist destination it is now.)

After Macchu Picchu we all separated.  Most returned by train to Lima then connected back home by air.  Myself, I went by train to Puno (Lake Titicaca) to cross the highest navigable lake in the world aboard “Oleanta”, to Bolivia. Here is a link to my blog post about the crossing.

Thus ended what turned out to be an extraordinary journey supposedly to the Galapagos but instead took us to Cuzco and Macchu Picchu, thanks to the shipwreck of the iconic vessel ‘Cristobal Carrier’.

"Who Would Have Thought Human Hands Capable of Such a Feat?" The work of my maternal grandfather, Anton Alberse, a diamond-cleaver.

A good friend was asking about the work of my maternal grandfather, Anton Alberse. He was a diamond cleaver.  Cleaving diamonds is very difficult, challenging work. Very few individuals have the courage and patience to become diamond cleavers. It requires exceptional concentration, plus nerves of steel. 

 Antwerp - one of the great European cities where my grandfathers and father 
worked (the other city was Amsterdam).

In my boyhood, before WWII, often I brought my grandfather his lunch and so I got the chance to see how it works. (More about this below.) Grandfather would prepare by setting the rough diamond on top of a tapered wooden stick with a special cement head.   

Before this step, he would mark with pen and Chinese ink the ‘veins’ where he thinks he will cleave. The ‘cement’ was made of shellac, and resin, and some other ingredients, including diamond-powder.  When the cement head was heated, it becomes soft and sticky but then becomes rock hard when cool. 

Then he’d take another diamond with a sharp edge (also set in a stick), and use that to make a V-shaped groove in the stone that’s going to be cleaved. Only diamond can cut diamond. And here’s the tricky bit:  that groove has to be made exactly on the growth plane of the stone (and there are four growth planes for a diamond). 

Once the groove is deep and sharp, then he’d take a blunt metal blade and insert it into the groove. Then the final step:  a short, sharp hit with a wooden mallet, to split the stone in whatever number of pieces his boss told him to create. These smaller stones go to the diamond-facetter (such as my father), who transforms them into jewels. 

Like I say, the studying and focusing before cleaving can take some time.  Sometimes the correct spot is missed and the raw diamond shatters.  This would cost the “boss” lots of $!  When something shatters or breaks not as planned, the cleaver then has to sweep up all the pieces. If the pieces are very small, then everything is put into a fire, what does not burn, is diamond. So you can imagine the pressure a diamond cleaver lives with.  At least in those days.  

Today this work is done with the aid of machines and computers. The more accurate a cleaver is, the more he got paid. Like I mentioned, often I used to bring grandfather his lunch.  Imagine this:  I was about six or seven.  Grandfather worked in a small room, there was one window, with bars (for security).  

Outside the door were two lights – green and red. If the green light was on, I would go in.  If it was red, I’d leave his lunch outside the door.  I knew the red light meant he was either about to cleave a diamond or in a state of intense concentration. With a green light, I’d enter with his lunch, and we’d chat while he ate.  But as soon as he was ready to resume work, I had to stand in the corner, be very still, and silent. Then I went back to school. 

Unfortunately I do not have a photograph of my maternal grandfather, who passed away many decades below.  But since we are talking about diamonds, here is a photograph of my grandfather's son -- my father -- who was a diamond-facetter.

My father, diamond-facetter Johannes Antonius van Bentum, circa 1950's

Shadrach, our beloved friend the Bengal cat goes ‘over the horizon’

Shadrach and friend Henri van Bentum, Paradise Valley, AZ

In two earlier blog posts we mentioned our cat-sitting experiences in Paradise Valley, Arizona.  (See the posts of March 3rd, 2014 and November 18th, 2016.)

After receiving the best possible care, Shadrach left his devoted ‘parents’ to depart for cat heaven this past February. 

Here is something I wrote in his honour:

It grieves and saddens us to hear our friend Shadrach has left for cat heaven, where he’ll join Miss Benny.  Our heartfelt condolences. We realize it must be a great loss for you both.  We were very attached to him after only knowing him for five weeks. For you both, of course, the loss must be deep.  Having had Shadrach since he was a handful-size, all these years.  
He was one of a kind.  With a strong will and personality.  Playful, with a remarkable imp.  'Still hear his purring when brushing him.  Even more when we gave him a bit of catnip. Being a lively companion, and with all his tricks, he gave you lots of pleasure and joy. 
We knew, of course, his departure was only a matter of time.  Yet knowing that Shadrach the Bengal aristocrat is gone, we cannot help but shed tears. Thank you for having made it possible for us to get to know Shadrach and to have him as a friend.
We recently learned our friends are likely going to get another Bengal cat, which is happy news.  “The King is dead, long live the new King”. 

Shadrach, RIP

Celebrating the International Day of Light - May 16th, 2018

You’re invited to view the online exhibition Light Sprang Forth – celebrating the paintings of Henri van Bentum, to mark the International Day of Light 2018, May 16^th.  “Viewing a painting by Henri van Bentum is a stimulus to the imagination. Perhaps his background as a diamond-faceter’s son is responsible for the almost crystalline aspect of his work. The single most extraordinary quality in all his paintings is a luminosity, a radiance that emanates from within.” Marina Sturdza 

“Light Sprang Forth”, acrylic on canvas 1964, by Henri van Bentum, Private Collection

Link to "Light Sprang Forth"

Here is a link to a 1-minute video about the International Day of Light: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acelisSU6Nw