::Desert Hotels::

After catching my breath from my exhausting half -mile bike ride, I kept rolling down a dusty path to a visit some of the hotels near town. The Explora Hotel, locally known as the Hotel de Larache and Hotel Tierra Atacama. Hotel de Larache was designed by German del Sol [pronounced "Herman"] and Jose Cruz, with Tierra Atacama being done by Rodrigo Searle and Matias Gonzalez. I had a tour scheduled with the general manager of Larache, an extremely knowledgable and passionate Chilean named Maurice Dides. As we walked through the alfalfa fields that surround Larache, Maurice outlined the philosophy of the hotel and how it related back to the architecture that houses it. The Explora philosophy, as described on the website is:

"explora was founded to encourage a new way of travel in the remote regions of the Southern tip of South America. We love nature and enjoy liberty, we suggest a philosophy of travel born out of the desire to explore the natural and cultural environment of the remote. "

This means that explora is thought of as one giant "base camp," with monastic rooms and a minimum 3 night stay to make sure guests participate in trekking and outdoor adventures. The hotel was designed originally to allow horses to access the interior pathways, further blurring the spatial separation between outside and inside as well as refined and rustic. Though you can't find hoof prints in the hallway now, the fixtures of the doors to the main spaces are made with hardware from the stables. Which was another interesting feature of the hotel, the entry actually comes through the stable area. When I arrived, at first I thought I had the wrong place, being lost in a small maze of aromatic horse stables and cobbled paths with no sign to guide my wanderings. It wasn't until a surly Chilean with a cowboy hat took pity on me and guided me to the main lobby that I found my way.

Hotel de Larache's landscape falls somewhere between the beauty of a well maintained farmland, and an overgrown trail that runs through a forest. The alfalfa fields that make up the majority of the area are partitioned off by thick chest high adobe walls to allow the horses to graze in different parts of the property. The landscape is flooded every 17 days when the hotel gets its allotted 20 hours of water, and the horses are rotated to prevent over-grazing. The small rooms look out onto this functional frontier instead of the normally sterile maintained landscape of most hotels.

The rooms are shielded from the hot summer sun by the use of a metal roof that acts as a heat shield, separated from the building underneath to provide an air gap. With this low-tech idea, the hotel does not have any need for central heating or cooling, even though in the middle of the desert.

Though most of the hotel falls under the rustic rough and tough, there are still a few points where you get back to more of the glamorous life associated with a high price tag. There are a series of pools and saunas in the back accessed by a heavy wooden walkway. Though even these seemingly superfluous containers of water have a function. In the case of a fire, the pools serve as an emergency water source, being drained if the need arises.

The other hotel I visited was the Hotel Tierra Atacama. The two proved to be an interesting comparison, as Tierra treated its connection with the landscape in a decidedly different manner. Where as Explora's line separating the building and surrounding is blurred and tugged apart, Tierra is distinct, with the property gazing out longingly over the austere desert. Instead of a fractured form, it is controlled and made predominantly of right angles and 20 degree slopes [+/-].

I didn't have a tour guide at Tierra, but luckily they didn't mind that a gringo went wandering around peering into people's windows. Fortunately for me, most all of the guests were away for the day hiking, horseback riding, or taking shots at one of the local bars. So that meant I was free to explore the extent of the property as long as I didn't get caught jiggling door handles. First on the list was heading out to the large acreage of property owned by the hotel. The walkways don't meander, they pierce the horizon, hovering over the semi soaked fields without visually touching. A striking contrast to the solid heavy walls defining the pathways at Larache.

The Hotel is probably most well known for the corten steel boxes that dot its interior. Their taut metal skins' stretched across, shrink-wrapping the boxes beneath. Their precision is perfect, everything lines up and is ordered. But in their accuracy of measurement something seems to be lost. I've been realizing more and more what draws me to many of the places I've been is the connection with the human hand. If you're a thoroughly unabashed modernist like myself, you strive to make sure everything lines up, has an order, nothing left to chance or chaos. That last statement was a gross generality and not at all accurate, but the fact remains that many times in the quest for refinement, a soul gets left behind. I've found more and more that slippages are a thing to be exploited, not contained. The rough marks left on concrete after form work is taken off showing the signs of making, the splinters left unsanded on a piece of wood, or the unevenness left in the adobe brick even by skilled masons. These are things of celebration I feel, the pressure for perfection is possible to be washed away by the acceptance once again of the calloused hand of the construction worker. Character, the hardest thing to define and even more difficult to achieve, can be gained from the logical process of making.

Never blog after a few glasses of wine, you get all worked up and off topic. What I was attempting to say in not so many words was that in the projects I've researched so far, one of the commonalities has been their lack of perfection in construction. Whether that is because of their separation from refined tools, the unskilled labor often times used, or the blinding sun throwing off measurements is up for debate. But the fact remains that I believe it to be an advantage, not a detriment in most of the cases I've witnessed. God I hope this doesn't lead to a rash of slipshod construction.

San Pedro de Atacama

Listen.
San Pedro de Atacama is a small village in an oasis in the middle of the Atacama desert. Which also happens to be in Northern Chile. Population : around 5000 people. 7,900 feel above sea level, making it high and dry. One of the driest places in the world actually, with little to no rainfall ever recorded. Temperature in the 80's during the day and drops down to below freezing during the night. The village was founded 11,000 years ago by the "Atacamenos". Some of the first known farmers in the country, they used llama droppings to fertilize their crops. Then, when the llamas got old, they cut them up and grilled them. So it goes. They charge 1200 pesos for a stick of llama meat now. I would have easily paid 1500.

The Atacamenos don't have much water, so they put up signs like this one in the bathroom. It was hanging in the hostel I stayed at and I only saw it the last day. Then I felt bad about my long showers before I knew it was there. They have so little water that they have to ration it by the hour.

There are a series of water channels in the village that are operated by a person called a "celador" [sp?]. You get a certain amount of hours of water from the channel depending on your plot of land. If you have horses or alfalfa you get a bonus. The Hotel de Larache gets 20 hours of water every 17 days. Which is a good amount and fair. They have both horses and alfalfa.

There are three types of shops in San Pedro. One is posh-rustic restaurants with expensive drinks. Another is tour operators with big glossy pictures of lagoons on the wall. And the last is an internet/bike rental/convenience store/laundry or any combination of the four. That is all. And a post office. All of the dogs are lazy and nice except for the ones that are owned by junkyards. They have pointy ears and good posture and run much faster.

A good way to get around is to rent a bike from the laundromat/internet cafe. Then you can go anywhere you want and see the other small villages. There are small creeks to cross that give you wet shoes if you go too fast. It is very high there and I think that I had altitude sickness, though no one told me that. I got about a mile before I had to stop and rest and wave to people passing. I'm sure they all knew that I wasn't reading my map because I was breathing so hard.

Many of the homes are made with many different materials. No one ever told me why. I think it was because you build with what you can in the desert. Sometimes that means barrels. Other times that means sticks. And every once in a while it means blocks.

The Tin Man cometh

Just ran across this project in Patagonia and thought I would share. I'm in Santiago right now after being in the Atacama Desert for about a week [posts to come soon]. Manuel Rapoport is an industrial designer who has made a house out of almost all recycled materials in the Patagonia region of Argentina. I'll be making my way to Valparaiso soon, and then after that down to Concepcion and Puerto Montt. If anyone knows anything I should be looking at or who I should be talking to make sure to let me know!

-T

Floating Along

Puno is a port town nestled off of the shores of Lake Titicaca, near the Bolivian border to Peru, and served as the next stop on what I'm now referring to as the Great South American Bus Ride. It feels as if my body is more used to traveling at 99kph [but never 100kph] than walking now. I've added up the amount of time I've spent on planes, trains, buses, or boats so far and I'm pretty sure its topped triple digits. Buses love to show dubbed over English shows and if I have to watch the Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Spanish again I'm actually going to believe Will Smith is Chilean.

But worth the travel it was, as Puno offered a great opportunity to explore some of the islands in the middle of Lake Titicaca, one of the highest navigable lakes in the world. I went down to the port in the morning and caught a boat with some local Taquilens [from Isle Taquile] in order to make it out to Los Uros, or "the Floating Islands". The name makes them sound like something out of a paperback fantasy novel, and they actually are similar in some respects, albeit without dragons or wizards. Los Uros are a series of many small bits of inhabitable land created by bonding together the local reeds, called totora, native to the lake. The reeds are not only valued for their medicinal properties, but serve to create a completely renewable construction material. As the reeds on the bottom of the island deteriorate, new material is added to the top to replenish the land, done almost every three months. Harvested locally, the islands are one of the few completely "sustainable" construction techniques I've heard of from a material point of view.

Not satisfied with just walking on and living on the reeds, the inhabitants of Uros also consume their slender building material of choice. The lower part of the totora is white and spongy, and contains iodine that wards off certain diseases. I tried some of it and tastes like what you would assume it to taste like, completely devoid of flavor with the consistency of a soft Brillo pad.

The population of Uros originally attempted to escape from other hostile peoples so they took to the water in order to get away. I've heard the original idea was defensible b/c they could move the islands to a different location in the lake when they heard enemies were present. I highly doubt the validity of this statement, as the top speed of a bunch of moving reeds would probably get close to .5 mph. Though maybe they were meant to just move so as not to give away their position. The transportation of the Uros got jealous and also mandated that it be built out of reed material, so all of their canoe like boats are incredibly well crafted and can go several years before they finally succumb to the elements. They are basically reed bundles tied together in order to get enough buoyancy, and are extremely rigid and tight construction wise. So some of their food comes from one material, their homes, their land, their car, as well as many of the obvious baskets and other oddities. I've never seen a culture so dependent on one main staple, and it brings to mind the Native American culture of re-using every part of the deer for different purposes.

The walls of the homes on the island are woven, keeping out the wind by layer after layer stacked on top of each other and threaded together. Many of the roofs use plastic now as an under layer and have also found out the benefits of meshing high tech and low tech. Since getting electricity out to the island would prove to be a shockingly hard venture [bad pun] many of the simple houses have turned to the sun to gather power in the form of solar collectors. Though it is pretty funny to see the gleaming metal in contrast to the simple woven homes.

Is it possible to gain some of the insight from the ongoing renewal of Los Uros as applied to our current construction practices? Right now almost no materials from a single family house can be re-used when torn down, and certainly not decay into the earth to come back in a different manner. What would happen if we allowed our buildings to "decay" to a greater extent in order to replace them? Or in a different vein, it allows us to look at the reuse of building materials to be used in another future project. Either embracing the degradation that would happen or using construction techniques that encourage longevity. The floating islands touched me in the way they utilized a local building material that can be renewed, as well as actually accomplishing the hard task of living where "we were not destined to be." Floating along, bobbing from the wakes of boats that pass by in the distance.


Thoughts on Traveling #18 : There are two competing types of peanut roasters in Santiago, Chile. There is the "Nuts4Nuts" stand and the "Crazy4Nuts" stand. I always patronize the Crazy4Nuts cart because I feel bad they weren't able to break away and come up with a better name.

Picchu Piku

Well I'm finally caught up to the present time blog-wise, or at least closer to the ultimate goal of actually reporting on current events. After a long plane ride and a seven hour layover in San Salvador, I have made it down to Lima, Peru! I'm off to a good start, already lost a sketchbook on the plane ride down here. Luckily [and sadly...] I don't think there was anything too important in it. Thoughts of Peru so far... everyone in the airport has surgical masks on, to protect against the influenza scare. Which, by the way, is not one of the things you want to see when entering a new country. Either that or armed guards with german shepards patrolling the streets. Both scenarios reek of post apocalyptic foreshadowing.

My Spanish has gotten rusty to the point of being incomprehensible over the last few years. Usually at restaurants I end up playing a game of gastronomical russian roulette, not entirely sure of what I'm going to get, and too polite to try and order anything else. Since Lima proved relatively uninteresting I decided to hop the first bus I could out of Lima to get closer to the ultimate goal of Machu Picchu [apologies to any Limians, you have a lovely city I'm sure]. On a side note, I've also given up all of my dreams and ambitions after having a taste of the good life. From now on I'm selling what moral character I had left to pray at the alter of greed with the hopes of becoming rich enough to afford VIP transportation. I came to this conclusion after accidentally buying a ticket for the "premiere class" of a bus company going from Lima to Cusco, Peru. Not truly accidentally, but they were out of tickets for the regular economic and business classes and all they had left was a ticket to ride in style in the luxury bus. Luckily it wasn't actually that expensive as far as transportation goes, so I said "Hey Taylor, live a little and upgrade." If I'm spending 21 straight hours on a bus I at least want it to be comfortable. As soon as I sat down in the cushy comfy seats on the "Cruz del Sur" I heard another fellow travel-goer exclaim "This is definitely the nicest place I've ever been!". We were on a bus, just to recap, but I did have to agree with him somewhat that it was a very nice bus. Each person had two vents, with the assumption you could blow cool air on your feet and head at the same time I guess? Well now that I've lost a majority of readers talking about seat cushions, I'll reward those that persevered by fast forwarding to the main reason I'm in Peru in the first place. Machu Picchu.

Its written into the Peruvian constitution somewhere that it is every tourist's legal responsibility to visit the Incan ruins, so I set about to fulfill my patriotic duty by doing the same. The bus ride was relatively uneventful besides passing by some great examples of typical Andean housing on the way to Cusco. The closer you get to the city, the more confused the houses became, finally resembling a cross between an 80's office building and a mud hut. Very strange. The wooden doors are usually always extremely well crafted, made of solid material with carvings and different patterns worked into them. The houses blend almost seemlessly into the courtyards they are adjoined to, with adobe walls skirting around the property to close in livestock and shop spaces. Earthy tones of umber also gives the houses even more of a seeming connection to the lush green landscape that surrounds them.

Machu Picchu. Words cannot accurately describe the mystical power of the rocky site nestled in the midst of the towering mountains that stare down at it. Therefore I won't attempt to weigh the memory down of those who have been there or are yet to go with superfulous analogies. I will put forth some of my thoughts on the construction of the place though, with the hopes that they have many relevant examples even in today's world of architecture.

The site was built nostly around the 1460's [A.D.] and only stood used for around 100 years before Spanish conquistadores and disease all but wiped it out. It was not plundered however, and is intact in most all of the key areas. One of the main techniques used in construction was called "ashlar," or the tight setting together of stones without mortar. Earthquakes are a major concern in the area, and ashlar type construction holds up much better against lateral movement, having nowhere to go and no mortar to disrupt. There are also male and female ¨keys¨where the blocks touch to interlock them even further from movement. To quarry the necessary stone in order to build such a prodigious structure, several different techniques were used. One of the ways that the stone was broken down into managable sizes was to make a crack in the rock and insert wooden wedges into the fissure. The wedges would be wet and therefore expand, splitting the stone further apart. This technique was repeated until the rock seperated.

I was also blown away by the complexity achieved by just one single material, stone [not including earth]. True, the thatched wooden roofs have long since deteriorated leaving only the shell of ruins, but most all of the main parts of the structures are made using different sizes and shapes of one single material. Relating the philosophy of less is more in terms of material to contemporary practice yields an interesting comparison. Instead of using a multitude of materials to achieve complexity [and perhaps contradiction....bad architecture joke...] the Incans chose to exploit all the possibilities of a single one, but in numerous different ways. As seen in the pictures above, stones are cantilevered out from walls to create simple functional staircases. In the repetition of openings in a stone wall, some are infilled to create alcoves instead of views. The path of water is traced and made way for by openings and matter worn away with the passage of time. And the creation of a threshold is made evident in the selection of higher quality stone to differentiate the doorway´s importance. All the subtleties in design are made by a re-thinking of a single material in order to make it work a number of different ways. Machu Picchu was inspiring and opened up a host of ideas in thinking about how to make the most out of a single piece.

Thesis Reviews & Oil Spills

Matt and I made it through our Great American Adventure with only a few scrapes, 2 speeding tickets, and multiple parking violations. I still can't return to Tennessee or Arkansas currently... We made it back to Raleigh, NC where I grabbed a plane out to California to make it in time for thesis reviews and a long awaited reunion with Megan.

I was glad to see most everyone in studio in good spirits with only a few threats of jumping off of the 9th floor. Reviews were a week or so away so I tried to stay out of studio as much as possible, though to no avail. Peter "Soundman" Lingamfelter and Gavin "Keeper" Knowles managed to coerse me into doing a few odds and ends to help out, though I think I probably did more harm than good. Reunited with Shivang Patwa we had our old studio pod back in action and celebrated by going to the hidden gem that is the Berkeley Art Museum cafe for lunch. Believe it or not, Peter and Gavin are actually having a good time in the picture above.

The big day[s] finally arrived. People prepared in different ways. Shivang shaved his mountain-man beard to find intimidating sideburns, Peter dimmed the lights and put on some mood music to warm up, while Gavin decided not to frighten young children by putting on a respirator. I was very proud of them as well as all of my other classmates and compatriots that are too numerous to go into detail. Suffice to say though, I was deeply impressed by the level of work that was going on at Berkeley and grew both inspired and anxious thinking of the coming year when it would be my proverbial head on the chopping block.

I got ready for my adventure into the American Southwest and loaded up my old '88 Honda accord with a sleeping bag, tent, and a newfangled GPS system. The goal: Roden Crater, Cinco Camp, Marfa TX, DesignBuildBLUFF, CalEarth, Double Negative, and some stellar Arizona work. The trip was going great the first 4 hours and I almost made it to LA before my car broke down on the "Grapevine", a nasty set of hills on I-5. You know its bad news when a guy in a beat-up Jalopy pulls up next to your car and waves at you to pull over b/c your car is smoking too much. Luckily I had AAA [everyone go buy a membership, best purchase of my life next to my Pez Dispenser collection] so they were able to tow me 80+ miles to my dear friend Mike Olsen's house in Burbank. The next day I drove/pushed my way to an auto shop to find out that the problem was minor, yet horribly expensive. Something about transmissions and flux capacitors, I don't speak mechanic. The thought of driving out into the middle of the desert with a car down on its luck didn't sound as appealing, so my dreams for the second road trip were dashed. I managed to get "White Lightning" back to San Francisco by keeping it on cruise control on hills to prevent over-revving, though being passed by 18 wheelers going uphill is both comical and damaging to one's already bruised ego.

On the good side though, being back in the city for another week allowed me to help move into our new place in San Francisco! Megan and I, with the help of a few friends, a little energon and a lot of luck, found out about a Julia Morgan building that had an opening and jumped on it as soon as possible [don't worry if you didn't get the energon joke, you're probably better off for it]. Another one of our good friends Michelle Lopez was also looking for a place to stay until the winter, so it worked out perfect that they could share the place until the traveling is over. By some twist of fate it also has a courtyard and about a dozen rose bushes, and without me there, have an actual shot at surviving. The stay in California felt all too brief and before I knew it, I was heading down to our shared-name neighbors in South America to see the Atacama Desert and chance my luck at making it to Patagonia. More to come soon...

Thoughts on Traveling #17 : Dogs gaurding junkyards hate it when you take their picture. And their friends they bring to chase you aren't too keen on the subject either.