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    Pain Below the Equator
    Pain Below the Equator
    Pain Below the Equator
    Ebook55 pages48 minutes

    Pain Below the Equator

    By Scott Skipper

    ()

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    About this ebook

    In six weeks the author and his wife, both experienced adventure travelers, toured the lower two thirds of South America making calls in Argentina, Chile with a side trip to Easter Island and Peru. Dining, sights, people, politics, pitfalls misfortune and craziness are recounted in concise detail. The author shares travel tips learned the hard way and what should have been avoided at all costs.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherScott Skipper
    Release dateSep 21, 2011
    ISBN9781465891273
    Pain Below the Equator
    Author

    Scott Skipper

    Scott Skipper is a California fiction writer with a broad range of interests, including history, genealogy, travel, science and current events. His wry outlook on life infects his novels with biting sarcasm. Prisoners are never taken. Political correctness is taboo. His work includes historical fiction, alternative history, novelized biography, science fiction and political satire. He is a voracious reader and habitual and highly opinionated reviewer.

    Read more from Scott Skipper

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      Book preview

      Pain Below the Equator - Scott Skipper

      Pain Below the Equator

      By Scott Skipper

      Copyright 2011 by Scott Skipper

      Cover photograph by Sandy Skipper

      All photographs by Sandy Skipper

      Smashwords Edition

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      Alien Affairs is a fast paced, slightly twisted story that explains what was the big secret at Roswell, and how a forty-something divorceé saved the human race when the aliens returned seventy years later to finished the mission of their crashed comrades.

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      Forward, September 2011:

      This was originally a series of emails sent to friends to keep them appraised of our progress. Most of it was written in snatches while waiting to be dragged about, often against our will, by the tour guides that we foolishly and ignorantly had prepaid for services we didn't want. I have attempted to smooth the flow in places but in others I find the almost telegraphic style captures the flavor of the trip. If you find it amusing or at all informative then I shall not have preserved it vain.

      S.S.

      January 22, 2010 Buenos Aires:

      We knew the flight would be nightmarish but who would have thought the arrival would be so torturous? On entering the Buenos Aires International airport a helpful young man directed us into the queue for returning citizens and the inspector was outraged when we handed him U.S. passports. The mass of nonresidents was seething within the twisted confines of the labyrinthine ropes so we fell onto the end of one of two parallel queues. People were constantly switching from one to the other, which of course is typical of grocery store checkout lines as people try to guess who ahead of them has cash and who has coupons, so we paid no attention to that, but as the fog of twenty-two hours of sleeplessness ebbed and flowed I attempted to follow the switchbacks to see where our line would terminate. There were two destinations: immigration kiosks and cashiers. You see, Argentina has what they call a reciprocity tax. They charge citizens of the U.S., Canada, and New Zealand an entry fee that is equal to what those counties charge Argentines for a visa application. They hasten to explain that it is not a visa—simply revenge. Still it looks and acts like a visa. Whether or not it is a visa, it would be much more convenient to pay the fee and get a visa before leaving home because after many minutes I realized our line was not destined to end at the cashiers. So, now at the end of the third queue, we questioned whether our greeter would wait for us as the plane had arrived half an hour late and it was ultimately over an hour before we cleared immigration. The next hurdle was baggage that had been languishing on the carrousels for so long. There were a lot of carrousels, and the monitors at their return loops were more likely to be selling excursions to the playa then identifying from which flight the luggage had come. With luck we found our bags apparently unmolested and proceeded through the enormous duty free store bumping into displays that we mistook for the exit.

      Hundreds of greeters with names scrawled on sheets of paper made an arena for the arriving passengers giving one to

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