One week ago yesterday I landed in Denver. My uncle dick picked me up from the aiport and dropped me off at my apartment in Broomfield. I was expecting a key under the doormat, but it wasn't there, so I got one from the leasing office. It turned out to be the wrong key, and I had to go back again.
The first thing I did was take a shower (using SOAP and conditioner this time - luxurious!) and change clothes. I never thought clean clothes could feel so decadent. Then the real fun began...
While in South America, I learned a great deal about myself. One big thing I learned is that I need to continue being independent and making choices motivated by one thing: ME. Unfortunately, that meant ending a nearly 3 year relationship with my boyfriend Jeff. Jeff was (is) my best friend, so I felt I owed it to him to let him know of my decision as soon as I was sure of it. And so that happened to be from a pay phone in a cafe in Puerto Natales; the day I got back from the Torres Del Paine Circuit.
Jeff wasn't shocked. Jeff was hurt. I was hurt. But the distance between us shielded my heart for my final week in Chile. When I came home, and Jeff met me at the apartment after a shower and costume change, the reality of my decision to be single confronted me. Over the next couple of days, Jeff and I grieved the death of our relationship. Our close friendship got us through it, but the pain was inescapable.
That night I drove to Denver and signed a lease for my new apartment - a 400 square foot studio in the Capitol Hill neighborhood...11th and Ogden. With no furniture, just the pack I'd been carrying for the past 6 weeks, I decided it was best to spend the night, and slept in my sleeping bag. Lonely, but proud that I had done the right thing. For me and Jeff. Jeff deserves someone who is ready for a relationship. Who can commit to him. He is better off without me.
And so a tough weekend ensued - moving my stuff into my new place, trying to figure out where Jeff and I stood as friends, now that we were no longer a couple, getting used to being alone, and gearing up for a return to work, where I'd be expected to work 10 hour days through the holidays (well, at least I get to go home 12/22 to 12/28 for xmas).
So, a week later, I am doing OK. Being alone was as frightening as I thought it was. But I'm learning to cope. I'm adapting. Things I learned I was capable of in South America. I'm finding myself. It is exciting. I'm afraid of losing momentum. I felt empowered and energetic upon landing, but I see the potential for the to all disappear unless I keep challenging myself and looking for the next bext thing; the next great hurdle.
I will continue documenting stuff (aka my life) on www.wallsaredoors.blogspot.com. If you feel so inclined to follow me ;) Here's a little incentive to check out my other blog - I will be writing about an idea I have to help the strays of Chile - an issue which really moved me upon arriving, and continues to move me now. It's called Street Dogs of Chile...I'll be writing about it soon.
Thanks for listening,
L
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Headed home
I'm getting a transfer to the aiport soon, and starting my dayish long journey back to Denver, to arrive tomorrow at 10 a.m. It's going to be a long night, and one of my ear buds is missing, so wish me luck and I can't wait to catch up with you all when I get home.
and share pictures!
Love,
Lauren
and share pictures!
Love,
Lauren
Why do trees hide the splendor of their roots?
The pachamamas had arrived in Santiago Wednesday night tired, bored and ready to explode with energy. Especially Barbara, the wild, gorgeous, austrian speaking, blonde, italian. We dropped our bags on our bunks and split off into separate directions, with plans to reconvene at 8 for dinner and sharing of the wine we purchased during the Balduzzi wine tour earlier that day.
I made a split for Bellavista, a neighborhood I had fallen in love with when I first arrived in Santiago over a month ago. I had a cappuccino chico with crema, even though I asked for a grande, and wrote in my journal next to another foreign woman, who was also journaling. I asked if I could sit next to her a few minutes earlier, and she only said OK. How friendly.
The cafe was great, the people watching better, but something was wrong. My stomach started gurgling and churning, sending little sos' to my brain, which I managed to ignore until 730, when I thought I might just die. I've gotten used to the pure water of southern chile, patagonia in particular, and my body was in shock after having ingested the dirty santiago agua.
The wine seemed to help, but I needed to lay down. Just as I was falling asleep a dark haired beauty of an australian approached my bunk to chat. She invited me to share pisco sour and coke, followed by a night out on the town. Still at university, camila was young and sprite and insisted that I get blasted on this wednesday night, my last night. I nodded my head reluctantly, but several glasses of wine and pisco and cokes later, I was wearing her frilly, flowery, PINK dress and crazy bombshell italian barbara's flipflops, in a taxi headed to the clubs of Bellavista.
A half dozen of us, a smattering of europeans, aussies and canadians, again, me being the lone american, were dancing and drinking mojitos when my stomach raised it's red flag yet again. I couldn't move. The smoke infested bar made me nauseous and I had to get some fresh air. Sitting outside, several drunk chilleans approached me for conversation, which I politely entertained while I tried not to puke. Graham, one of the canadians, brought me a water, and told me to come back inside. I hate dancing and I want to go home, I said, feeling truly odd in my girly dress, now soaked in aromas of tobacco.
At 4 am the others tired spontaneously, dancing hard one minute and barely making it to the taxi the next. I figured food would help, and as I sat in bed, ate two large raspberry cookies in less than 30 seconds, falling asleep in crumbs.
At 7 am I woke up, and was frightfully determined to take a shower, despite having run out of shampoo and soap. The smell of tobacco in my hair and dress, which I had fallen asleep in, made me cringe. My feet were caked in dirt, and the blisters between my toes from last week's trek were throbbing. Somehow I had also managed to slice my thumb open. As a slow trickle of hot water sort of rinsed the stench from my hair, I started to feel better, and decided to go for a long walk in search of a hearty breakfast.
At Cafe De Artes, I had an omelet, toast, raspberry juice, and coffee. As I was sipping my cortado, I heard a SMACK and by the time I looked right had just missed witnessing a businessman get hit by a car. The car, turning left, hit the man's shins, sending him tumbling over the hood of his car, landing bluntly, cradling his bruised shins. Within a minute the cops were there, and the situation was under control. The man wasn't seriously hurt, but witnessing this was a very good reminder that I'm not in boulder any more, that I can't cross the streets without turning my head like I do there.
After breakfast Hannah and I had plans to spend my last day in santiago together, doing girly things like shopping and visiting museums, and of course eating ice cream. We did all three, bringing my last day to a quite pleasant end, rather enjoying the english company. Her way of speech is rubbing off on me, and I reckon I've taken on a bit of her accent. Hannah lost all of her cards and money last week, having to live off the little bit her dad could wire her, and so I treated her to an english tour of the Poet Pablo Neruda's house.
And on this tour I learned that as he was dying he wrote a book of questions. In his study, one of these questions sat on his desk, asking me Why do trees hide the splendor of their roots?
A smile crept into my lips, I closed my eyes, and thought up my answer...the most beautiful things are not what we see, but what we imagine.
I made a split for Bellavista, a neighborhood I had fallen in love with when I first arrived in Santiago over a month ago. I had a cappuccino chico with crema, even though I asked for a grande, and wrote in my journal next to another foreign woman, who was also journaling. I asked if I could sit next to her a few minutes earlier, and she only said OK. How friendly.
The cafe was great, the people watching better, but something was wrong. My stomach started gurgling and churning, sending little sos' to my brain, which I managed to ignore until 730, when I thought I might just die. I've gotten used to the pure water of southern chile, patagonia in particular, and my body was in shock after having ingested the dirty santiago agua.
The wine seemed to help, but I needed to lay down. Just as I was falling asleep a dark haired beauty of an australian approached my bunk to chat. She invited me to share pisco sour and coke, followed by a night out on the town. Still at university, camila was young and sprite and insisted that I get blasted on this wednesday night, my last night. I nodded my head reluctantly, but several glasses of wine and pisco and cokes later, I was wearing her frilly, flowery, PINK dress and crazy bombshell italian barbara's flipflops, in a taxi headed to the clubs of Bellavista.
A half dozen of us, a smattering of europeans, aussies and canadians, again, me being the lone american, were dancing and drinking mojitos when my stomach raised it's red flag yet again. I couldn't move. The smoke infested bar made me nauseous and I had to get some fresh air. Sitting outside, several drunk chilleans approached me for conversation, which I politely entertained while I tried not to puke. Graham, one of the canadians, brought me a water, and told me to come back inside. I hate dancing and I want to go home, I said, feeling truly odd in my girly dress, now soaked in aromas of tobacco.
At 4 am the others tired spontaneously, dancing hard one minute and barely making it to the taxi the next. I figured food would help, and as I sat in bed, ate two large raspberry cookies in less than 30 seconds, falling asleep in crumbs.
At 7 am I woke up, and was frightfully determined to take a shower, despite having run out of shampoo and soap. The smell of tobacco in my hair and dress, which I had fallen asleep in, made me cringe. My feet were caked in dirt, and the blisters between my toes from last week's trek were throbbing. Somehow I had also managed to slice my thumb open. As a slow trickle of hot water sort of rinsed the stench from my hair, I started to feel better, and decided to go for a long walk in search of a hearty breakfast.
At Cafe De Artes, I had an omelet, toast, raspberry juice, and coffee. As I was sipping my cortado, I heard a SMACK and by the time I looked right had just missed witnessing a businessman get hit by a car. The car, turning left, hit the man's shins, sending him tumbling over the hood of his car, landing bluntly, cradling his bruised shins. Within a minute the cops were there, and the situation was under control. The man wasn't seriously hurt, but witnessing this was a very good reminder that I'm not in boulder any more, that I can't cross the streets without turning my head like I do there.
After breakfast Hannah and I had plans to spend my last day in santiago together, doing girly things like shopping and visiting museums, and of course eating ice cream. We did all three, bringing my last day to a quite pleasant end, rather enjoying the english company. Her way of speech is rubbing off on me, and I reckon I've taken on a bit of her accent. Hannah lost all of her cards and money last week, having to live off the little bit her dad could wire her, and so I treated her to an english tour of the Poet Pablo Neruda's house.
And on this tour I learned that as he was dying he wrote a book of questions. In his study, one of these questions sat on his desk, asking me Why do trees hide the splendor of their roots?
A smile crept into my lips, I closed my eyes, and thought up my answer...the most beautiful things are not what we see, but what we imagine.
Yerson's Veggie Currry Recipe
And he has outdone himself again with a delicious veg curry, which in my opinion would benefit from a sliced avocado. Here is the recipe...
Steam broccoli for 15 minutes first. Then add green onion, cilantro, red pepper, zuccini and carrot. Add mashed clove of garlic, yellow curry powder to taste and wait 25 minutes...cook on medium to high heat. Add a cup or two of cream. To see if vegetables are ready, taste a carrot. Add mushrooms last.
AMAZING. Unlike any veg dish I have ever had.
Although he didn't make this, he suggested I make Yerson's Veg Pizza as well. This shall be my first meal in my new apartment!
Put toppings on pizza crust in this order...
cheese, mushrooms, lentils or greenbeans, cheese, curry powder, pepper salt, corn, tomatoes, fresh garlic soaked beforehand in vinegar salt and oil, and bake.
YUM!
Cilantro is key. I used to hate it, now I love it. Veg food doesn't have to be bland. Thanks Yerson.
Steam broccoli for 15 minutes first. Then add green onion, cilantro, red pepper, zuccini and carrot. Add mashed clove of garlic, yellow curry powder to taste and wait 25 minutes...cook on medium to high heat. Add a cup or two of cream. To see if vegetables are ready, taste a carrot. Add mushrooms last.
AMAZING. Unlike any veg dish I have ever had.
Although he didn't make this, he suggested I make Yerson's Veg Pizza as well. This shall be my first meal in my new apartment!
Put toppings on pizza crust in this order...
cheese, mushrooms, lentils or greenbeans, cheese, curry powder, pepper salt, corn, tomatoes, fresh garlic soaked beforehand in vinegar salt and oil, and bake.
YUM!
Cilantro is key. I used to hate it, now I love it. Veg food doesn't have to be bland. Thanks Yerson.
Yerson's Veggie Pasta Sauce
Yerson, our pachamama bus guide on the two day ride back up to Santiago, is a chef. I believe he has prepared two of my favorite meals here in Chile, if not ever...at least during my time as a vegetarian.
Here is the recipe, which you must try if you like cheese...a ton of cheese.
On medium to high heat, put cilantro, vegetable oil, green onion, mashed garlic, cubed red pepper and a light cream sauce *a cup or two. Wait 10 minutes and add yellow curry to taste and black pepper. Wait one minute and add shredded cheese, preferably one with a strong flavor like gouda. Stir sauce frequently for one minute, turn off heat, and wait two minutes before eating.
During the prep of the sauce, boil water with salt and veg oil, add pasta, and when it boils again add a dash of curry.
Here is the recipe, which you must try if you like cheese...a ton of cheese.
On medium to high heat, put cilantro, vegetable oil, green onion, mashed garlic, cubed red pepper and a light cream sauce *a cup or two. Wait 10 minutes and add yellow curry to taste and black pepper. Wait one minute and add shredded cheese, preferably one with a strong flavor like gouda. Stir sauce frequently for one minute, turn off heat, and wait two minutes before eating.
During the prep of the sauce, boil water with salt and veg oil, add pasta, and when it boils again add a dash of curry.
Monday, December 7, 2009
build a deck, get a home
I arrived at the hostal yesterday morning, a day before they were ready to receive me. I had been before, and perhaps misjudged their hospitality, for when I arrived my bed wasn´t made and they were clearly more concerned with working on the garden than entertaining me, but Gonzalo said his usual ¨this is your house¨ so I dropped of my bags and hit the town.
I had a stomach bug today, perhaps due to too much coffee and sweets (my staple foods here in Chile, and even at home when I´m there!). I managed to sneak back into the hostal late, around 11 PM, get under the covers, and not wake up until 11 AM this morning, feeling better.
After picking up my clean clothes and grabbing breakfast at my favorite cafe, overlooking the lake and volcano, I went to Puerto Gres - a local pottery shop in town that sells very unique, high quality pieces. I decided to buy myself a few things - call it a house-warming present for my apartment, which doesn´t even have a kitchen big enough to hold my new mugs, sugar container, and cream holder. Coffee is my passion, and a big part of my life, so I know I will enjoy these things despite having the room to store them.
In addition to going back to school to become a vet, I think I will open a cafe in denver. Oh yeah, and independent film theatre as well...and my dog sitting business. Where was I? Ah yes, telling you about my day.
I decided to help Gonzalo with the garden, and instead we got started on building a deck - something I have never done. We started from scratch - removing wooden panels from the rear of the house, based on how much wood we had, determining how big to make the deck. We measured, we hammered, we dug, and the deck is starting to take shape! It felt good. Gonzalo offered me his yard as a gift, saying it was mine if I wanted to move to Puerto Varas and camp for the rest of my life. To most people this might seem odd or like the worst gift ever, but for me, this was a miracle. Such a generous offer, one I just might take him up on one day - at least for a summer.
Imagine sleeping under the stars on warm, balmy nights, surrounded by a beautifully landscaped garden, just a few feet from a door, behind which is a bouldering cave! Waking up, strolling the few hundred feet to a tranquil, turquoise lake at the base of a volcano, strolling a few hundred more feet to the pier where you watch the sun rise, and strolling the last few hundred feet to a cafe that serves the best cortado (coffee with cream) in Chile. Yeah, a great gift.
At 5 the pachamama crew arrived (a new guide this time - yerson), and 4 aussie girls. Tonight Yerson is making us pasta - vegetarian for me. I liked him instantly. Minutes after we met he showed me his keychain, which looked like a mapuche tribesman carved out of wood. Pull his feet, Yerson suggested, and with a raised brow I did so, discovering that upon doing this a carved penis emerged from beneath the figurines wooden attire.
OH Yerson...
I had a stomach bug today, perhaps due to too much coffee and sweets (my staple foods here in Chile, and even at home when I´m there!). I managed to sneak back into the hostal late, around 11 PM, get under the covers, and not wake up until 11 AM this morning, feeling better.
After picking up my clean clothes and grabbing breakfast at my favorite cafe, overlooking the lake and volcano, I went to Puerto Gres - a local pottery shop in town that sells very unique, high quality pieces. I decided to buy myself a few things - call it a house-warming present for my apartment, which doesn´t even have a kitchen big enough to hold my new mugs, sugar container, and cream holder. Coffee is my passion, and a big part of my life, so I know I will enjoy these things despite having the room to store them.
In addition to going back to school to become a vet, I think I will open a cafe in denver. Oh yeah, and independent film theatre as well...and my dog sitting business. Where was I? Ah yes, telling you about my day.
I decided to help Gonzalo with the garden, and instead we got started on building a deck - something I have never done. We started from scratch - removing wooden panels from the rear of the house, based on how much wood we had, determining how big to make the deck. We measured, we hammered, we dug, and the deck is starting to take shape! It felt good. Gonzalo offered me his yard as a gift, saying it was mine if I wanted to move to Puerto Varas and camp for the rest of my life. To most people this might seem odd or like the worst gift ever, but for me, this was a miracle. Such a generous offer, one I just might take him up on one day - at least for a summer.
Imagine sleeping under the stars on warm, balmy nights, surrounded by a beautifully landscaped garden, just a few feet from a door, behind which is a bouldering cave! Waking up, strolling the few hundred feet to a tranquil, turquoise lake at the base of a volcano, strolling a few hundred more feet to the pier where you watch the sun rise, and strolling the last few hundred feet to a cafe that serves the best cortado (coffee with cream) in Chile. Yeah, a great gift.
At 5 the pachamama crew arrived (a new guide this time - yerson), and 4 aussie girls. Tonight Yerson is making us pasta - vegetarian for me. I liked him instantly. Minutes after we met he showed me his keychain, which looked like a mapuche tribesman carved out of wood. Pull his feet, Yerson suggested, and with a raised brow I did so, discovering that upon doing this a carved penis emerged from beneath the figurines wooden attire.
OH Yerson...
Traveling with friends
Traveling has ceased to be a novelty, and has become a way of life. I am now very used to the flow of traveling alone - the joys of deciding what to do and where to go sans the influence of another.
Travel Changes Us. Travel has taught me that I can adapt very well to diverse situations - that I have what it takes to thrive in the face of challenge, at least in Chile.
Most importantly, I have discovered I really like having myself as company. I never feel alone - adventure is my constant companion. New experiences - sights, smells, tastes - are my friends.
Travel Changes Us. Travel has taught me that I can adapt very well to diverse situations - that I have what it takes to thrive in the face of challenge, at least in Chile.
Most importantly, I have discovered I really like having myself as company. I never feel alone - adventure is my constant companion. New experiences - sights, smells, tastes - are my friends.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Puerto Varas, Part Duex
At 1 I landed in Puerto Montt (closest city to Varas) and was greeted by a taxi driver holding a type-written sign - LAUREN UDWARI. He spoke no english, and so we walked in silence to his van and I slept through the half hour ride to Varas. I decided to splurge today, paying 30 bucks for a taxi and nearly 100 for a night at Vicki Johnson´s Guest House in Varas - a fancy hotel in a historic german building in the heart of downtown.
Next on my to-do list - LAUNDRY. After wearing the same clothes for one week, I was eager to find a Lavanderia and scrub the torres del paine wind, dirt and sweat from mi ropa. However, the only one in town was closed (at 2 PM!) not to open until Monday. Furious and low in cash, I pulled out my credit card and bought some pants at the North Face store and shirt at the Lippi store...at least I was clean now. I headed to Cafe De Barista, overlooking the lake and volcanos Varas is famous for, and had my usual - veg sandwich and cappucino con crema. I perused interior design magazines, wondering how I´d decorate my 400sq foot studio apartment in Denver. (YES, I AM MOVING AGAIN).
On the stroll back to the hotel I discovered a woman doing laundry in her house. I asked her if I could pay her to do my laundry and for a pretty penny she agreed (12 bucks!). Oh well. The price you pay for cleanliness.
I decided to try a new restaurant for dinner - Retorno - known for their chilean style pizza (lots of cheese, no sauce, and served with green stuff - my guess is mashed jalapenos). It was delicious, but still hungry from my 130 km in the park, I stopped for dessert at Cafe Danes. The Nut Cake was delicious and had taken me to the point of fullness.
Tonight would be the first night I could sleep in my bed with out having to wonder if the sheets had been changed recently, or having to deal with torture-esque bed rods or springs.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
Punta Arenas
I stepped off the bus in Punta Arenas, eager to change my traveler´s checks due to my fast-dwindling cash supply. According to my moon book, Scott Cambio would do it. They would not.
NOTE TO SELF - TRAVELER´S CHECKS ARE A THING OF THE PAST. NEVER BRING TRAVELER´S CHECKS TO CHILE. ATMs are all you need. Long Sigh.
So I continued on to Hostal Fitz Roy, which felt cold and unwelcoming. The host lead me to my single room, which was the size of a dorm, with three beds. I picked the Queen bed in the middle of two twins, and decided to get lunch.
Earlier I had strolled by Pub 1900 - a very european feeing bar adjacent to a fancy hotel. I ate a vegetarian sandwich and drank a cappucino. Stuffed I decided to skip dinner, buy a bottle of wine, and relax back the hostal. Punta Arenas, Patagonia´s biggest city, wasn´t very pretty in my opinion - it was crowded, dirty, and cold. The wind blew street dust into your eyes.
I was ready to head back north to my favorite city in Chile - Puerto Varas.
The next morning, eager to sit down for, according to my guidebook, the best breakfast in town, but all I got was cold coffee and that christmas bread everyone in the states makes fun of - with green fruit in it. I was told to catch my transfer bus to the airport at 8, and it arrived at 845 - the time I was supposed to BE at the airport, which was 30 minutes away.
I turned some hair grey waiting in the long line, but made my flight, and was in the air headed to Puerto Varas at 10 a.m. I was pleasantly surprised by the airplane breakfast - a crepe filled with eggs, kiwi muffin, cup of fruit, bread and jam, juice and coffee...the best food I´ve had on the trip has been on planes. Go Figure.
NOTE TO SELF - TRAVELER´S CHECKS ARE A THING OF THE PAST. NEVER BRING TRAVELER´S CHECKS TO CHILE. ATMs are all you need. Long Sigh.
So I continued on to Hostal Fitz Roy, which felt cold and unwelcoming. The host lead me to my single room, which was the size of a dorm, with three beds. I picked the Queen bed in the middle of two twins, and decided to get lunch.
Earlier I had strolled by Pub 1900 - a very european feeing bar adjacent to a fancy hotel. I ate a vegetarian sandwich and drank a cappucino. Stuffed I decided to skip dinner, buy a bottle of wine, and relax back the hostal. Punta Arenas, Patagonia´s biggest city, wasn´t very pretty in my opinion - it was crowded, dirty, and cold. The wind blew street dust into your eyes.
I was ready to head back north to my favorite city in Chile - Puerto Varas.
The next morning, eager to sit down for, according to my guidebook, the best breakfast in town, but all I got was cold coffee and that christmas bread everyone in the states makes fun of - with green fruit in it. I was told to catch my transfer bus to the airport at 8, and it arrived at 845 - the time I was supposed to BE at the airport, which was 30 minutes away.
I turned some hair grey waiting in the long line, but made my flight, and was in the air headed to Puerto Varas at 10 a.m. I was pleasantly surprised by the airplane breakfast - a crepe filled with eggs, kiwi muffin, cup of fruit, bread and jam, juice and coffee...the best food I´ve had on the trip has been on planes. Go Figure.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
a division
I live in an old house where nothing
screams victory
reads history
where nothing
plants flowers
sometimes my clock falls
sometimes my sun is like a tank on fire
I do not ask
your armies
or
your kisses
or
your death
I have my
own
my hands have arms
my arms have shoulders
my shoulders have me
I have me
you have me when you can see me
but I don´t like you
to see me
I do not like you to see that
I have eyes in my head
and can walk
and
I do not want to
answer your questions
I do not want to
amuse you
I do not want you to
amuse me
or sicken me
or talk about
anything
I do not want to
love you
I do not want to
save you
I do not want your arms
I do not want your
shoulders
I have me
you have you
let that
be.
---
I have been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski on this trip. I can relate to him. I think I understand him but the difference between us is that he embraced the pessimist within whereas I fight it every single day of my life.
Charles never apologized for who he was - which was a person living with complete disregaurd for the rules of society. Eliminating most people from his life, and therefore relationships, his closest friends were booze and cats.
What an interesting character. And even more interesting to me that I can feel his every word - a guitar pick on my soulstrings that makes music that is both beautiful and sorrowful.
screams victory
reads history
where nothing
plants flowers
sometimes my clock falls
sometimes my sun is like a tank on fire
I do not ask
your armies
or
your kisses
or
your death
I have my
own
my hands have arms
my arms have shoulders
my shoulders have me
I have me
you have me when you can see me
but I don´t like you
to see me
I do not like you to see that
I have eyes in my head
and can walk
and
I do not want to
answer your questions
I do not want to
amuse you
I do not want you to
amuse me
or sicken me
or talk about
anything
I do not want to
love you
I do not want to
save you
I do not want your arms
I do not want your
shoulders
I have me
you have you
let that
be.
---
I have been reading a lot of Charles Bukowski on this trip. I can relate to him. I think I understand him but the difference between us is that he embraced the pessimist within whereas I fight it every single day of my life.
Charles never apologized for who he was - which was a person living with complete disregaurd for the rules of society. Eliminating most people from his life, and therefore relationships, his closest friends were booze and cats.
What an interesting character. And even more interesting to me that I can feel his every word - a guitar pick on my soulstrings that makes music that is both beautiful and sorrowful.
Back in Puerto Natales
It was good to be back in Puerto Natales. At the hostal I overheard several people saying the pass would take at least 9 days - more likely 10. At this I laughed, feeling pretty good about doing it in 5, but wishing I had more time do it in 7 or 8, so that I could appreciate the scenery more.
Instead of a hot meal that night I bought bread and pears and fell asleep early. I woke up angry - angry that the springs in my bed were poking out of my mattress and into my skin like some sort of torture device. Half naked and half asleep I wandered downstairs and asked Taj - a californian helping out at the hostal for a month - for a new bed. Instead he flipped my mattress, I lied that it felt better, and barely got any sleep that night.
The next day a good breakfast of omelette, homemade sweet bread and real coffee (up until now I have been drinking the Chilean staple - instant nescafe) made up for the horrible night of sleep. Today I would board the bus down to Punta Arenas, so I made one last stroll through town, stopping at my favorite bakery - Pan Pa Ya for heart-shaped pastries, and mailing my postcards, which had done the circuit with me.
I boarded the bus to Punta Arenas happy, tired, and ready for the next leg of this adventure. Little did I know the next leg would be one of the most stressful....
Instead of a hot meal that night I bought bread and pears and fell asleep early. I woke up angry - angry that the springs in my bed were poking out of my mattress and into my skin like some sort of torture device. Half naked and half asleep I wandered downstairs and asked Taj - a californian helping out at the hostal for a month - for a new bed. Instead he flipped my mattress, I lied that it felt better, and barely got any sleep that night.
The next day a good breakfast of omelette, homemade sweet bread and real coffee (up until now I have been drinking the Chilean staple - instant nescafe) made up for the horrible night of sleep. Today I would board the bus down to Punta Arenas, so I made one last stroll through town, stopping at my favorite bakery - Pan Pa Ya for heart-shaped pastries, and mailing my postcards, which had done the circuit with me.
I boarded the bus to Punta Arenas happy, tired, and ready for the next leg of this adventure. Little did I know the next leg would be one of the most stressful....
Day 5 - The Pass
On Day 5 we got up at 630 am as planned, had a hearty breakfast of pita and manjar (dulce de leche) and started up a steep hill to the pass.
We were lucky - upon entering the pass the sun was shining and the winds calm. We hurried to put on our sunglasses, hearing that an american who had done the pass sans sunglasses the week before had gone blind.
And then it came, about halfway through the 6km of pass. The winds, the snow, the ice...I found myself using the Ed Veisters technique - pick a point close by and tell yourself you only have to make it that far. I even started counting, one one-thousand, two-one thousand...when I made it to twenty one-thousand I could rest and look up to relocate the trail, which was impossible to see because the snow was so deep it had burried the markers.
At the top of the pass we could see Glacier Gray, and I started to cry. It was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. Deep blue crevaces, a blue sky serving as the backdrop. We approached a pole where those who had made it had tied a sock, bandanna, or other piece of cloth...I sacrificed my bug repellent bandanna as a sign that I had made it. We snapped pictures trying not to blow away in the process, and started our steep decent to Refugio Grey, where we´d spend our last night. This was our 2nd to longest day at 22km - the day before was 26km.
Going down the steep slope was impossible. We kept slipping and sliding. We finally gave in and started sliding intentionaly, using random branches and trees to control our speed. This didn´t work too well - we´d catch our ankle or twist our knee - lose our water bottle or a trekking pole. After 4 hours of this we had made it to camp. paso - where most who do the pass stop for the night. But due to our goal of finishing the circuit in five days, we would have to go on for another 7 hours to Refugio Grey.
Luckily, they flew by. Jorg had decided to ditch me and Young. We couldn´t figure out why, but decided to take our time and snap pictures of condors and glaciers. I think Jorg was sick of hiking - not the trekking or outdoorsy type. I had tried to convince him to rent gaiters - things that prevent snow from getting into your boots - but he laughed at me. He also refused to rent trekking poles - laughing even harder at me. Well, on Day 5 after 6km of hiking in four feet of snow, he definitely wasn´t laughing.
When we got to Refugio grey, I splurged on a bottle of wine from the little store, in celebration of making it in 5 days. We had heard earlier in the day that the pass had been closed. Several Australians had gotten lost and had to be rescued the day prior. The snow was too deep, rendering the trail markers invisible. This, I decided, was further cause for celebration. And as I got drunk the most beautiful sunset fell over Lago Grey, and I snapped my best pictures of the entire trip.
I fell asleep dreaming of the catamaran ride the next morning, a hot meal in town, and a warm bed at the hostal. Oh yeah, and a night with out a snoring German who insisted on rolling onto my sleeping pad...
...He laughed when I suggested he rent one.
End of Day 5
We were lucky - upon entering the pass the sun was shining and the winds calm. We hurried to put on our sunglasses, hearing that an american who had done the pass sans sunglasses the week before had gone blind.
And then it came, about halfway through the 6km of pass. The winds, the snow, the ice...I found myself using the Ed Veisters technique - pick a point close by and tell yourself you only have to make it that far. I even started counting, one one-thousand, two-one thousand...when I made it to twenty one-thousand I could rest and look up to relocate the trail, which was impossible to see because the snow was so deep it had burried the markers.
At the top of the pass we could see Glacier Gray, and I started to cry. It was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen. Deep blue crevaces, a blue sky serving as the backdrop. We approached a pole where those who had made it had tied a sock, bandanna, or other piece of cloth...I sacrificed my bug repellent bandanna as a sign that I had made it. We snapped pictures trying not to blow away in the process, and started our steep decent to Refugio Grey, where we´d spend our last night. This was our 2nd to longest day at 22km - the day before was 26km.
Going down the steep slope was impossible. We kept slipping and sliding. We finally gave in and started sliding intentionaly, using random branches and trees to control our speed. This didn´t work too well - we´d catch our ankle or twist our knee - lose our water bottle or a trekking pole. After 4 hours of this we had made it to camp. paso - where most who do the pass stop for the night. But due to our goal of finishing the circuit in five days, we would have to go on for another 7 hours to Refugio Grey.
Luckily, they flew by. Jorg had decided to ditch me and Young. We couldn´t figure out why, but decided to take our time and snap pictures of condors and glaciers. I think Jorg was sick of hiking - not the trekking or outdoorsy type. I had tried to convince him to rent gaiters - things that prevent snow from getting into your boots - but he laughed at me. He also refused to rent trekking poles - laughing even harder at me. Well, on Day 5 after 6km of hiking in four feet of snow, he definitely wasn´t laughing.
When we got to Refugio grey, I splurged on a bottle of wine from the little store, in celebration of making it in 5 days. We had heard earlier in the day that the pass had been closed. Several Australians had gotten lost and had to be rescued the day prior. The snow was too deep, rendering the trail markers invisible. This, I decided, was further cause for celebration. And as I got drunk the most beautiful sunset fell over Lago Grey, and I snapped my best pictures of the entire trip.
I fell asleep dreaming of the catamaran ride the next morning, a hot meal in town, and a warm bed at the hostal. Oh yeah, and a night with out a snoring German who insisted on rolling onto my sleeping pad...
...He laughed when I suggested he rent one.
End of Day 5
The Park, Day 4
On Day 4 we awoke knowing we´d have to make up for lost time. We felt energized today, having gotten up at a reasonable hour and having bandaged our swollen, blistered feet. I had also asked Jorg to carry the bigger half of the tent for the last stretch, and it made a big difference in my pack weight.
Despite the first 4 miles being all uphill, we arrived at Refugio Dicksen early, and decided to break for coffee. Jorg was starting to crumble - his ankle the size of a grapefruit and his spirit the size of a pea.
As the coffee started to boil, Young - the German from Camp. Seron arrived, eager to join in on the coffee plus rum tradition Jorg and I had started as a way to break up the day.
Young decided to continue on with us, fearful of trekking through the infamous snowy, windy pass alone on Day 5 - the last day. And so we set a fast pace to Camp. Perros, which had been closed, but had a mongolian-like shelter in which we were looking forward to cooking.
After 8 hours of hiking, with 2 hours to go, it started to snow. My feet felt good, caffeine fueled my legs, rum numbed my blisters, and I decided today was the best day of the circuit. The forest looked enchanted as the snow lightly coated each of the beech tree´s branches. Just before we reached camp we came to a clearing, and a glacier, and a wind so powerful I could barely stand. Young was leading and had veered off trail - we were lost. The boys just stood there, clueless as to what to do. I knew we´d have to back-track - the last thing Jorg wanted as his feet were about to explode - so I volunteered to run ahead and check things out. I found nothing. We have to back track, I said, and luckily, within minutes, we had relocated our trail.
I discovered something about myself today - in the crazy winds, being lost, trekking through deep snow, I felt strong, I felt excited, I felt alive. I thrive in situations that challenge me - that force me to confront pain and solve problems.
By the time we reached camp we were cold and tired. Eating was a chore. We met an australian who had crossed the pass earlier, headed in the opposite direction. He had gotten lost and looked as if he´d just seen death. Good luck in the pass tomorrow, he said, as he crawled out of the mongolian dome and into his tent.
End of Day 4.
Despite the first 4 miles being all uphill, we arrived at Refugio Dicksen early, and decided to break for coffee. Jorg was starting to crumble - his ankle the size of a grapefruit and his spirit the size of a pea.
As the coffee started to boil, Young - the German from Camp. Seron arrived, eager to join in on the coffee plus rum tradition Jorg and I had started as a way to break up the day.
Young decided to continue on with us, fearful of trekking through the infamous snowy, windy pass alone on Day 5 - the last day. And so we set a fast pace to Camp. Perros, which had been closed, but had a mongolian-like shelter in which we were looking forward to cooking.
After 8 hours of hiking, with 2 hours to go, it started to snow. My feet felt good, caffeine fueled my legs, rum numbed my blisters, and I decided today was the best day of the circuit. The forest looked enchanted as the snow lightly coated each of the beech tree´s branches. Just before we reached camp we came to a clearing, and a glacier, and a wind so powerful I could barely stand. Young was leading and had veered off trail - we were lost. The boys just stood there, clueless as to what to do. I knew we´d have to back-track - the last thing Jorg wanted as his feet were about to explode - so I volunteered to run ahead and check things out. I found nothing. We have to back track, I said, and luckily, within minutes, we had relocated our trail.
I discovered something about myself today - in the crazy winds, being lost, trekking through deep snow, I felt strong, I felt excited, I felt alive. I thrive in situations that challenge me - that force me to confront pain and solve problems.
By the time we reached camp we were cold and tired. Eating was a chore. We met an australian who had crossed the pass earlier, headed in the opposite direction. He had gotten lost and looked as if he´d just seen death. Good luck in the pass tomorrow, he said, as he crawled out of the mongolian dome and into his tent.
End of Day 4.
The Park, Day Two
We got a very late start - 11 am - mostly due to my previous sleepless night, but also the fact that Jorg is NOT a morning person.
After a breakfast of oatmeal and jam (yuck) we started the 8 hour day far too late, but were destined to make it to Campamento Torres, at the base of the infamous Towers. The hike was long but relatively flat until the last few miles - which were ALL UPHILL. Jorg was breathing heavily. I was panting. By the time we made it to camp we were so tired and cold the only thing we could think to do was drink rum. And so we did. Next we boiled water, realizing the reason it took so long the night before was because we had forgotten the lid! We drank coffee-hot chocolate-rum drinks until hunger lead us to night 2 of pasta - this time adequately cooked.
We hurried into bed, knowing we´d have to get up at 430 am to make it to the Mirador (viewpoint) to see the sunrise over the towers.
End of Day 2.
At 2 am the trees, which had been collecting the softly falling snow for the previous four hours, had reached their maximum holding capacity and a gust of wind every 15 minutes or so would dump a pile of powder on our tent, making it impossible to sleep. It´s like monkeys throwing coconuts! Jorg said, and we laughed hysterically on and off, this image in mind, until my alarm went off at 430. You go and take pictures, Jorg said, as we moaned in response to the beeping alarm.
I pushed us both to our feet and we scurried in the cold up the mountain. The towers were beautiful but ominous in the just-before-sunrise light, as we stood waiting. Several others showed up, immediatley firing up coffee. Unfortunatley, the best view was upon arrival, for 5 minutes later the clouds dropped and the snow came. At 545 we gave up, ran down the mountain and went back to sleep in our cold, wet tent.
At 9 we woke up, getting another late start, knowing it would be a very long day to Campamento Dickson, where we were looking forward to a hot meal and a shower.
Today was a bad day, despìte the first half being downhill. Going down hurts more than going up when your pack is mostly full - your thighs ache with every step. When we reached the Hosteleria, where we had planned to have lunch, we couldn´t even take our time it was so windy. We hiked on a dirt road for what seemed like 10 hours, thought it was only 5, before we arrive at Campamento Seron for a break. An hour before we arrived I noticed my first blister - on the ball of my left foot. Jorg and I sat at a picnic table at Camp Seron, with our socks off, when Young, another German, walked by saying The showers are hot. We decided to stop 4 miles early and camp at Seron.
The hot shower felt good. The meal tasted better. And falling asleep after a bar of chocolate made the pain in my feet nearly disappear.
End of day 3.
After a breakfast of oatmeal and jam (yuck) we started the 8 hour day far too late, but were destined to make it to Campamento Torres, at the base of the infamous Towers. The hike was long but relatively flat until the last few miles - which were ALL UPHILL. Jorg was breathing heavily. I was panting. By the time we made it to camp we were so tired and cold the only thing we could think to do was drink rum. And so we did. Next we boiled water, realizing the reason it took so long the night before was because we had forgotten the lid! We drank coffee-hot chocolate-rum drinks until hunger lead us to night 2 of pasta - this time adequately cooked.
We hurried into bed, knowing we´d have to get up at 430 am to make it to the Mirador (viewpoint) to see the sunrise over the towers.
End of Day 2.
At 2 am the trees, which had been collecting the softly falling snow for the previous four hours, had reached their maximum holding capacity and a gust of wind every 15 minutes or so would dump a pile of powder on our tent, making it impossible to sleep. It´s like monkeys throwing coconuts! Jorg said, and we laughed hysterically on and off, this image in mind, until my alarm went off at 430. You go and take pictures, Jorg said, as we moaned in response to the beeping alarm.
I pushed us both to our feet and we scurried in the cold up the mountain. The towers were beautiful but ominous in the just-before-sunrise light, as we stood waiting. Several others showed up, immediatley firing up coffee. Unfortunatley, the best view was upon arrival, for 5 minutes later the clouds dropped and the snow came. At 545 we gave up, ran down the mountain and went back to sleep in our cold, wet tent.
At 9 we woke up, getting another late start, knowing it would be a very long day to Campamento Dickson, where we were looking forward to a hot meal and a shower.
Today was a bad day, despìte the first half being downhill. Going down hurts more than going up when your pack is mostly full - your thighs ache with every step. When we reached the Hosteleria, where we had planned to have lunch, we couldn´t even take our time it was so windy. We hiked on a dirt road for what seemed like 10 hours, thought it was only 5, before we arrive at Campamento Seron for a break. An hour before we arrived I noticed my first blister - on the ball of my left foot. Jorg and I sat at a picnic table at Camp Seron, with our socks off, when Young, another German, walked by saying The showers are hot. We decided to stop 4 miles early and camp at Seron.
The hot shower felt good. The meal tasted better. And falling asleep after a bar of chocolate made the pain in my feet nearly disappear.
End of day 3.
The Park, Day One
On day one Jorg and I boarded the bus directly outside my hostal, erratic rock. It would take us about 2 hours to get there. Next, we hopped on the Catamaran, which took us across Lago Pehue, to the base of Valle Frances.
Before we even got started we stopped at a bench to eat lunch. The part I like most about being out here, I said to Jorg as we crammed cheese sandwiches into our mouths, is the quiet. He nodded, we threw our apple cores into the shrub, and started on the trail, 3 hours from Campo Italiano, where we´d spend our first night.
When we started hiking I felt like shit, with 45 minutes of sleep and a hangover, carrying a 50 pound backpack. Three hours felt like 9, and by the time we got to camp I was dreading the 6 hour hike up Valle Frances to the viewpoint. We pitched the tent and started our hike - atleast we were able to do it packless. Then we heard a SMACK - BANG - BOOM! when we looked up it was too late - a piece of the glacier had fallen, making an incredible explosion-like sound. The hike up Valle Frances was accompanied by glacier sounds - like a huge, old ship, shifting it´s weight on top of waves - or the way an old house sounds, as you walk on its ancient wooden floors - deep, long, creaks.
At the top of Valle Frances we took a break for cheese crackers. But before long we were too cold - the notorious patagonian winds had arrived. Besides, with the fog that had settled, we couldn´t see much anyway.
When we got back to camp we boiled water, wondering why it took nearly an hour to get even slightly warm. We settled for luke and ate our crunchy, cold pasta. Chocolate for dessert would become a tradition, as would crawling into the tent and falling asleep immediatley after. And this brings us to the end of day one.
side note about doing a trek with a german you just met - I could barely pronounce Jorg´s name and we had already gone grocery shopping together, and were now sleeping in the same bed! Jorg, a 25 year old rugby player studying medicine ot become a surgeon, wasn´t much of a talker. His dark curls, green eyes, and tan skin had gotten to his brain I believe, and he didn´t felt the need to make an effort to get to know me, thinking I would be dying to get to know him. This made for an interesting 5 days of trekking - very little talking, very fast walking...
Before we even got started we stopped at a bench to eat lunch. The part I like most about being out here, I said to Jorg as we crammed cheese sandwiches into our mouths, is the quiet. He nodded, we threw our apple cores into the shrub, and started on the trail, 3 hours from Campo Italiano, where we´d spend our first night.
When we started hiking I felt like shit, with 45 minutes of sleep and a hangover, carrying a 50 pound backpack. Three hours felt like 9, and by the time we got to camp I was dreading the 6 hour hike up Valle Frances to the viewpoint. We pitched the tent and started our hike - atleast we were able to do it packless. Then we heard a SMACK - BANG - BOOM! when we looked up it was too late - a piece of the glacier had fallen, making an incredible explosion-like sound. The hike up Valle Frances was accompanied by glacier sounds - like a huge, old ship, shifting it´s weight on top of waves - or the way an old house sounds, as you walk on its ancient wooden floors - deep, long, creaks.
At the top of Valle Frances we took a break for cheese crackers. But before long we were too cold - the notorious patagonian winds had arrived. Besides, with the fog that had settled, we couldn´t see much anyway.
When we got back to camp we boiled water, wondering why it took nearly an hour to get even slightly warm. We settled for luke and ate our crunchy, cold pasta. Chocolate for dessert would become a tradition, as would crawling into the tent and falling asleep immediatley after. And this brings us to the end of day one.
side note about doing a trek with a german you just met - I could barely pronounce Jorg´s name and we had already gone grocery shopping together, and were now sleeping in the same bed! Jorg, a 25 year old rugby player studying medicine ot become a surgeon, wasn´t much of a talker. His dark curls, green eyes, and tan skin had gotten to his brain I believe, and he didn´t felt the need to make an effort to get to know me, thinking I would be dying to get to know him. This made for an interesting 5 days of trekking - very little talking, very fast walking...
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The Circuit, Torres Del Paine, 130 km in less than 5 days
Yeah, I´m bragging.
Tomorrow I head to Punta Arenas, where I´ll write more about this trek.
All Nighter
I sat down at the communal table in the pizza joint, happily eating my greenga pizza of spinach and garlic, sipping my one glass of wine, when two spainards started chatting with me in spanish, while pouring their bottle of wine into my glass. After struggling to make conversation with them for a few minutes, some french-turned chilean ski resort owners started pouring THEIR wine into my glass, asking what I was doing here in Franspanglish.
After a bottle of wine it was midnight. I was full and tired. I hurried over to the hostal. Upon entering I ran into Paula - an italian here for some trekking. Paula and I had hit it off earlier, having the same sense of humor. She grabbed my arm and said ¨Let´s go to the reggae show.¨
And so at midnight we arrived at the Blue Bar, at 1 the band played, at 4 we finished dancing, at 5 we went to another bar, at 530 I was doing pullups in bar number 2, and by 6 I was asleep, alarm set for 645.
Paul, one of the erratic rock owners came out with us. We were fearful he would miss his breakfast-making duties the next morning but he reassured us he hasn´t missed one in two years.
At 7 am, Paula and I sat at the kitchen table, still drunk and salivating over thoughts of hot coffee. The folks with 630 reservations for breakfast still hadn´t eat. Paul over slept.
At 720, 10 minutes before boarding the bus to Torres Del Paine, Paul ran into the hostal screaming what time is it, what times is it!?
He missed breakfast for the first time in two years.
And I hopped on the bus to the park with an empty stomach and 45 minutes of sleep.
After a bottle of wine it was midnight. I was full and tired. I hurried over to the hostal. Upon entering I ran into Paula - an italian here for some trekking. Paula and I had hit it off earlier, having the same sense of humor. She grabbed my arm and said ¨Let´s go to the reggae show.¨
And so at midnight we arrived at the Blue Bar, at 1 the band played, at 4 we finished dancing, at 5 we went to another bar, at 530 I was doing pullups in bar number 2, and by 6 I was asleep, alarm set for 645.
Paul, one of the erratic rock owners came out with us. We were fearful he would miss his breakfast-making duties the next morning but he reassured us he hasn´t missed one in two years.
At 7 am, Paula and I sat at the kitchen table, still drunk and salivating over thoughts of hot coffee. The folks with 630 reservations for breakfast still hadn´t eat. Paul over slept.
At 720, 10 minutes before boarding the bus to Torres Del Paine, Paul ran into the hostal screaming what time is it, what times is it!?
He missed breakfast for the first time in two years.
And I hopped on the bus to the park with an empty stomach and 45 minutes of sleep.
Halo Jorg
Last Friday at 3 pm Erratic Rock held it´s daily Torres Del Paine talk, where you learn about the various hikes, from one-day to 10-day treks. I decided to go in hopes of finding a trekking partner.
Since I only had a week in Puerto Natales, and 5 days in the park, I figured the whole circuit of 130 km was out of the question...this takes about 10 days. So I was set on the W, which takes 4 or 5 days.
When the talk ended, I sauntered up to the map of the park, where loners were asked to gather to find partners. A short, frumpy guy from california walked up to me asking if I wanted to do the W...he looked like he´d have a rough go of the W and talk a lot - the latter which was far worse. Standing behind him was a tan, curly-haired german guy, Jorg, wearing a State Radio sweatshirt. He said very few words other than that he thought we could do the circuit in less than 6 days. And so I found my partner.
Things happened very quickly after that, since we´d have to board the 730 am bus into the park the very next day - Saturday. So I ran to get laundry and cash and we met back up at base camp - what erratic rock calls their gear store.
We made a shopping list, packed, and headed to our separate hostals for a good night´s sleep - the last one we´d have in 5 days.
Then I made the mistake of going to this pizza joint in town, around 10 pm.
Since I only had a week in Puerto Natales, and 5 days in the park, I figured the whole circuit of 130 km was out of the question...this takes about 10 days. So I was set on the W, which takes 4 or 5 days.
When the talk ended, I sauntered up to the map of the park, where loners were asked to gather to find partners. A short, frumpy guy from california walked up to me asking if I wanted to do the W...he looked like he´d have a rough go of the W and talk a lot - the latter which was far worse. Standing behind him was a tan, curly-haired german guy, Jorg, wearing a State Radio sweatshirt. He said very few words other than that he thought we could do the circuit in less than 6 days. And so I found my partner.
Things happened very quickly after that, since we´d have to board the 730 am bus into the park the very next day - Saturday. So I ran to get laundry and cash and we met back up at base camp - what erratic rock calls their gear store.
We made a shopping list, packed, and headed to our separate hostals for a good night´s sleep - the last one we´d have in 5 days.
Then I made the mistake of going to this pizza joint in town, around 10 pm.
Where was I...
The last time I wrote I was in Coyhaique, trying to figure out what to do next.
I ended up coming to Puerto Natales (flying is a very pleasant experience in Chile - roomy seats, good food, and free alcohol). In the terminal, a nice chilean man invited me for a coffee and I got to practice my spanish. I was a little relieved he didn´t sit next to me on the plane, though, speaking spanish stresses me out.
I arrived in Punta Arenas, expecting to take a bus from the airport to Puerto Natales, where I had reservations at Erratic Rock - an oregonian ex-pat owned hostal for climbers. But I had to take a bus to Punta Arenas first, then another bus to Puerto Natales, 3 hours away. I arrived at 8 pm on Thanksgiving, starving.
I was immediately invited to partake in Thanksgiving Dinner...which for me was rice and stuffing bread. Here I met a few climbers who invited me out to the bar. We had some delicious Patagonian Beer, and by midnight said our goodbyes. One of the climbers was Tadeo, a chilean guide who has been working in Torres Del Paine since he was a teenager. The other climbers, Stephanie and Drew, ex-boulderites, were here climbing and working (Drew a carpenter and Steph a nanny for the hostal owners two boys). They were very nice people, and would have made great climbing partners if I had more time here.
Next on my agenda was to find a partner with whom to trek in Torres Del Paine.
I ended up coming to Puerto Natales (flying is a very pleasant experience in Chile - roomy seats, good food, and free alcohol). In the terminal, a nice chilean man invited me for a coffee and I got to practice my spanish. I was a little relieved he didn´t sit next to me on the plane, though, speaking spanish stresses me out.
I arrived in Punta Arenas, expecting to take a bus from the airport to Puerto Natales, where I had reservations at Erratic Rock - an oregonian ex-pat owned hostal for climbers. But I had to take a bus to Punta Arenas first, then another bus to Puerto Natales, 3 hours away. I arrived at 8 pm on Thanksgiving, starving.
I was immediately invited to partake in Thanksgiving Dinner...which for me was rice and stuffing bread. Here I met a few climbers who invited me out to the bar. We had some delicious Patagonian Beer, and by midnight said our goodbyes. One of the climbers was Tadeo, a chilean guide who has been working in Torres Del Paine since he was a teenager. The other climbers, Stephanie and Drew, ex-boulderites, were here climbing and working (Drew a carpenter and Steph a nanny for the hostal owners two boys). They were very nice people, and would have made great climbing partners if I had more time here.
Next on my agenda was to find a partner with whom to trek in Torres Del Paine.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Marzipan!!!
Some good news - after a long bus ride to Coyhaique today, Ive made it to Coyhaique and am staying at a very nice Hostal - Hostal Gladys. I have my own room with a nice bed and the shower is hot!
To top it off, I had dinner at a wonderful restaurant - Cafe Ricer - a Gringo favorite according to my guide. I ordered some marzipan to go, and sit eating it while I type a bunch of crap on my blog.
I swear I can write, but I dont have the time to inject much of my brain power into these posts - just enough to get my thoughts down so I dont forget them. As of yesterday I took up the last page in my lovely journal, so until I find another, I am limited to my blog (sorry avid readers for the rambilng, horrible cliches, and numerous spelling errors).
Tomorrow I will formulate my plan for the rest of my time in Patagonia.
Chao! Buenas Noches!
To top it off, I had dinner at a wonderful restaurant - Cafe Ricer - a Gringo favorite according to my guide. I ordered some marzipan to go, and sit eating it while I type a bunch of crap on my blog.
I swear I can write, but I dont have the time to inject much of my brain power into these posts - just enough to get my thoughts down so I dont forget them. As of yesterday I took up the last page in my lovely journal, so until I find another, I am limited to my blog (sorry avid readers for the rambilng, horrible cliches, and numerous spelling errors).
Tomorrow I will formulate my plan for the rest of my time in Patagonia.
Chao! Buenas Noches!
A Gringo in Cochrane
11-24
930PM
I left the estancia yesterday, and spent the day in Cochrane. Agneta and I had one final lunch together at my hostal for the night - Hostal Lago Esmeralda. Agenta was off to climb San Lorenzo - the second highest peak in Patagonia. She invited me along, but I didnt have the appropriate gear. Our original plan was to travel to Fitz Roy (el Chalten) together, but it being so early in the season we wouldnt be able to catch a ferry until Saturday. So we agreed to return in 2011 and do Fitz Roy together, having become such good friends over the past couple of weeks (this disaster bred kinship!).
I said goodbye to Agneta and was finally alone - something Id been pining for for over a week now. First on my list was to find an internet cafe, which turned out not to exist. Next, after wandering for what felt like miles, was to find the bus terminal, from which Id head to Coyhaique the following morning at 8 am. I found it and continued to the Plaza De Armas (built with stone supplied by the Tompkins), and relaxed while reading Emerson.
I swear I must have been the only non chilean in Cochrane. It is about a month before tourist season starts, and I was the only occupant in my hostal last night. Speaking very little spanish, I managed to get a coffee at the hostal, and find out that dinner was at 930. At 930, frightened to head down to the restaurant where 5 Argentinian gauchos had been having beer and smoking since 4 pm, I decided it would be good to eat real food, even if it meant doing so eons outside my comfort zone.
I sat down and asked for the menu, but got a salad instead. WOW! I thought, what a coincidence! He must have read my mind - a salad is exactly what I wanted. I finished and sat back, sipping water, listening to the gauchos tell what I imagined were jokes, and watching porn on TV (this is a common occurance during a chilean dinner). Excited to get the hell out of there, I looked for the chef and noticed him carrying an enormous bowl of soup in my direction. He placed it in front of me, chicken thigh and all, and I couldnt find the courage to turn it away. And so I ate it. I ate chicken. For the first time since going vegetarian in August, I ate meat. And it was delicious.
It did come from their backyard, I would soon thereafter learn, during a terrible conversation with the chef, who tried to chat with me. He couldnt understand why I didnt climb the mountain with my friend, or why I would be traveling alone for the rest of my trip. I think he had a hard time wrapping his brain around why I would travel all this way and spend all this money to do hard manual labor on the estancia.
When I had finally made it to my bed, having paid the bill and agreeing to miss breakfast in the morning because Id be up way before anyone else to catch my bus, I collapsed into the inviting pile of sheets and pillows and........broke the bed... snap! crack! boom! several of the beams supporting my mattress had broken. Luckily, nobody noticed due to the gaucho laughter and sick, crying hostal baby, so I snuck to the bathroom, intent on a long overdue shower. This is when I noticed the ceiling angled so severely Id have to squat to take a shower. Feeling defeated I got into bed gently, positioned myself into the uncomfortable dip, and fell asleep watching the only music video on my iPOD - shot in the head by moby.
This is what I get for being the only gringo in cochrane.
930PM
I left the estancia yesterday, and spent the day in Cochrane. Agneta and I had one final lunch together at my hostal for the night - Hostal Lago Esmeralda. Agenta was off to climb San Lorenzo - the second highest peak in Patagonia. She invited me along, but I didnt have the appropriate gear. Our original plan was to travel to Fitz Roy (el Chalten) together, but it being so early in the season we wouldnt be able to catch a ferry until Saturday. So we agreed to return in 2011 and do Fitz Roy together, having become such good friends over the past couple of weeks (this disaster bred kinship!).
I said goodbye to Agneta and was finally alone - something Id been pining for for over a week now. First on my list was to find an internet cafe, which turned out not to exist. Next, after wandering for what felt like miles, was to find the bus terminal, from which Id head to Coyhaique the following morning at 8 am. I found it and continued to the Plaza De Armas (built with stone supplied by the Tompkins), and relaxed while reading Emerson.
I swear I must have been the only non chilean in Cochrane. It is about a month before tourist season starts, and I was the only occupant in my hostal last night. Speaking very little spanish, I managed to get a coffee at the hostal, and find out that dinner was at 930. At 930, frightened to head down to the restaurant where 5 Argentinian gauchos had been having beer and smoking since 4 pm, I decided it would be good to eat real food, even if it meant doing so eons outside my comfort zone.
I sat down and asked for the menu, but got a salad instead. WOW! I thought, what a coincidence! He must have read my mind - a salad is exactly what I wanted. I finished and sat back, sipping water, listening to the gauchos tell what I imagined were jokes, and watching porn on TV (this is a common occurance during a chilean dinner). Excited to get the hell out of there, I looked for the chef and noticed him carrying an enormous bowl of soup in my direction. He placed it in front of me, chicken thigh and all, and I couldnt find the courage to turn it away. And so I ate it. I ate chicken. For the first time since going vegetarian in August, I ate meat. And it was delicious.
It did come from their backyard, I would soon thereafter learn, during a terrible conversation with the chef, who tried to chat with me. He couldnt understand why I didnt climb the mountain with my friend, or why I would be traveling alone for the rest of my trip. I think he had a hard time wrapping his brain around why I would travel all this way and spend all this money to do hard manual labor on the estancia.
When I had finally made it to my bed, having paid the bill and agreeing to miss breakfast in the morning because Id be up way before anyone else to catch my bus, I collapsed into the inviting pile of sheets and pillows and........broke the bed... snap! crack! boom! several of the beams supporting my mattress had broken. Luckily, nobody noticed due to the gaucho laughter and sick, crying hostal baby, so I snuck to the bathroom, intent on a long overdue shower. This is when I noticed the ceiling angled so severely Id have to squat to take a shower. Feeling defeated I got into bed gently, positioned myself into the uncomfortable dip, and fell asleep watching the only music video on my iPOD - shot in the head by moby.
This is what I get for being the only gringo in cochrane.
The future Patagonia National Park
After spending 2 and a half weeks at the future Patagonia National Park, volunteering for Conservacion Patagonica, I am able to reflect on the experience.
I decided to leave a few days early for several reasons, one of which was my unimagined displeasure with the volunteer program.
My only expectations going into this volunteer program were that I would work for 4 days out in the field, either removing fences or doing conservation-restoration work, have 2 subsequent days off, and that the 15 dollars a day I was paying to be there would go toward my meals. I also expected that he Park would be beautiful.
Unfortunately, only one of my expectations was met - the park was beautiful. Not in a Torres Del Paine way, but in a unique, diverse landscape that, although ravaged by decades of sheep and cattle farming, was a sanctuary for all things wild, with incredible potential.
According to the website, Id be camping and working for 4 days and resting for 2. But when I got to the Estancia Friday 11-06, I learned that something very different had been going on. The Volunteers had worked for 6 straight days, sleeping the entire time in bunks. I was shown my bunk, and hopped in, while the others told me what was about to unfold. That I would get one night in a bed and then wed all be camping the rest of our time on the estancia. The Argentinian architects were coming to decorate the Tompkins house, and they would be using all the bunk beds.
So, instead of 4 days on, 2 days off, we would work 6 days on, one day off, each day sleeping in a tent. I thought to myself - hey, this is cool! Ill really get to rough it out here for a few weeks - sleeping in my tent, working hard! Pulling Fences! Doing conservation work! Wrong again.
90 percent of what we did the first 2 weeks was absolutely not in the spirit of conservation, but rather for purposes quite aesthetic in nature. Our first task was to fill a ditch with dirt. The ditch was a fragile ecosystem created by sheep, but happened to sit right by the park entrance - an eye sore that Chris wanted filled. Unsure of where the land to fill the ditch was coming from, we shoveled dirt into this hole for two days.
On Day 3, thinking we might finally be going out to pull fences, I was assigned to paint a shed green (because green is nicer than white?) with James. I believe we were paired together because our main boss, Luigi, thought we might like each other. The others went off to dig up plants to re-plant in the Tompkins yard (are you seeing a pattern here?).
Id heard over lunch one day that before I had arrived the volunteers sprayed exotic plants with pesticides (the Tompkins refuse to have any native plants in the Park). They said the chemicals were so harmful they had to wear special uniforms and masks.
This kind of work continued until we started complaining. The last straw was the weekend of my birthday. While me and the boys were dropped off at a Puesto several miles from the estancia, Agenta (who had chosen to stay behind) and the new volunteer Jakob, were sent to another ditch in the park. Here, they were asked to dump trash, including chemicals, into the ditch, and cover it up with mud. Agenta and Jakob hesitantly did as asked, but decided by lunch time that they would not continue this type of work. They spoke with the wildlife manager Christian at lunch, who agreed this may not be the best approach but was a direct Tompkins order.
That night over dinner, about a week before I would leave the estancia, most of the volunteers except for James and Jamie, decided to leave early. Agreed that what we had been doing was unethical and not part of what we thought conservation should entail.
Ironically, the following day we were told wed be doing fence removal the rest of the time - for the most part this was true and I believe it was also convenient because the bosses would be out of town and it was easier to drop us all off at a puesto or have us camp while they were gone. This way the cooks wouldnt have to work either. While I was happy with the work, I was seriously unhappy with what would ensue.
All 7 of us were expected to sleep at a puesto intended for one or two people. It was currently occupied by one of the gauchos working with the estancia horses. One room was the tack room, leaving one room for sleeping, about 200 square feet. Agenta and I decided to hike back to the estancia that night and sleep in our tents instead, furious that they would expect us to live like this for four days. In addition, the food we were provided was enough for 7 volunteers for 1 or 2 days, not 4. Included was a bag of pasta, a bag of rice, 6 cans of tuna, some onions, a sack (A SACK) of meat, a sack of hard bread, a dozen oranges, and one chicken. Of course plenty of mayo and mate were also provided.
Agenta and I discussed our disappointment with the situation on our 4 mile hike back to the estancia, after spending a few hours removing fences. We told our interim boss Pablo our plan, which he OKd. On Friday we got back to the estancia and would go with out food (except for one dinner on Sunday) for the next 3 days. Breakfast went from bread and jam to bread. The coffee ran out. Hot water stopped being provided. The last day was so dismal, as we sat around eating bread bricks and looking at each other weary eyed, that I was so glad to be leaving before lunch.
I could go into even more detail about the crazy disorganization of the volunteer program, the unethical approach to land restoration and conservation, and the treatment of the volunteers, but Ill save that for an article. This was just my free association, full of misspellings and grammatical errors, to get some things off my chest and into my blog. And to give you an idea of why I, as Mark and Neal said so well Monday morning as I packed my bags, quit the volunteer program.
One last thing - food for thought if you will - outhouses and showers were erected just a couple weeks prior to my arrival. they were what you would imagine an outhouse to look like, so no big deal there, but get this - when you flushed, the shit went out of the toilet and onto the ground, which happens to be right next to the river (the estancia drinking supply), which happens to be right next to the volunteer campground.
Enough Said. Thats my piece for tonight.
I decided to leave a few days early for several reasons, one of which was my unimagined displeasure with the volunteer program.
My only expectations going into this volunteer program were that I would work for 4 days out in the field, either removing fences or doing conservation-restoration work, have 2 subsequent days off, and that the 15 dollars a day I was paying to be there would go toward my meals. I also expected that he Park would be beautiful.
Unfortunately, only one of my expectations was met - the park was beautiful. Not in a Torres Del Paine way, but in a unique, diverse landscape that, although ravaged by decades of sheep and cattle farming, was a sanctuary for all things wild, with incredible potential.
According to the website, Id be camping and working for 4 days and resting for 2. But when I got to the Estancia Friday 11-06, I learned that something very different had been going on. The Volunteers had worked for 6 straight days, sleeping the entire time in bunks. I was shown my bunk, and hopped in, while the others told me what was about to unfold. That I would get one night in a bed and then wed all be camping the rest of our time on the estancia. The Argentinian architects were coming to decorate the Tompkins house, and they would be using all the bunk beds.
So, instead of 4 days on, 2 days off, we would work 6 days on, one day off, each day sleeping in a tent. I thought to myself - hey, this is cool! Ill really get to rough it out here for a few weeks - sleeping in my tent, working hard! Pulling Fences! Doing conservation work! Wrong again.
90 percent of what we did the first 2 weeks was absolutely not in the spirit of conservation, but rather for purposes quite aesthetic in nature. Our first task was to fill a ditch with dirt. The ditch was a fragile ecosystem created by sheep, but happened to sit right by the park entrance - an eye sore that Chris wanted filled. Unsure of where the land to fill the ditch was coming from, we shoveled dirt into this hole for two days.
On Day 3, thinking we might finally be going out to pull fences, I was assigned to paint a shed green (because green is nicer than white?) with James. I believe we were paired together because our main boss, Luigi, thought we might like each other. The others went off to dig up plants to re-plant in the Tompkins yard (are you seeing a pattern here?).
Id heard over lunch one day that before I had arrived the volunteers sprayed exotic plants with pesticides (the Tompkins refuse to have any native plants in the Park). They said the chemicals were so harmful they had to wear special uniforms and masks.
This kind of work continued until we started complaining. The last straw was the weekend of my birthday. While me and the boys were dropped off at a Puesto several miles from the estancia, Agenta (who had chosen to stay behind) and the new volunteer Jakob, were sent to another ditch in the park. Here, they were asked to dump trash, including chemicals, into the ditch, and cover it up with mud. Agenta and Jakob hesitantly did as asked, but decided by lunch time that they would not continue this type of work. They spoke with the wildlife manager Christian at lunch, who agreed this may not be the best approach but was a direct Tompkins order.
That night over dinner, about a week before I would leave the estancia, most of the volunteers except for James and Jamie, decided to leave early. Agreed that what we had been doing was unethical and not part of what we thought conservation should entail.
Ironically, the following day we were told wed be doing fence removal the rest of the time - for the most part this was true and I believe it was also convenient because the bosses would be out of town and it was easier to drop us all off at a puesto or have us camp while they were gone. This way the cooks wouldnt have to work either. While I was happy with the work, I was seriously unhappy with what would ensue.
All 7 of us were expected to sleep at a puesto intended for one or two people. It was currently occupied by one of the gauchos working with the estancia horses. One room was the tack room, leaving one room for sleeping, about 200 square feet. Agenta and I decided to hike back to the estancia that night and sleep in our tents instead, furious that they would expect us to live like this for four days. In addition, the food we were provided was enough for 7 volunteers for 1 or 2 days, not 4. Included was a bag of pasta, a bag of rice, 6 cans of tuna, some onions, a sack (A SACK) of meat, a sack of hard bread, a dozen oranges, and one chicken. Of course plenty of mayo and mate were also provided.
Agenta and I discussed our disappointment with the situation on our 4 mile hike back to the estancia, after spending a few hours removing fences. We told our interim boss Pablo our plan, which he OKd. On Friday we got back to the estancia and would go with out food (except for one dinner on Sunday) for the next 3 days. Breakfast went from bread and jam to bread. The coffee ran out. Hot water stopped being provided. The last day was so dismal, as we sat around eating bread bricks and looking at each other weary eyed, that I was so glad to be leaving before lunch.
I could go into even more detail about the crazy disorganization of the volunteer program, the unethical approach to land restoration and conservation, and the treatment of the volunteers, but Ill save that for an article. This was just my free association, full of misspellings and grammatical errors, to get some things off my chest and into my blog. And to give you an idea of why I, as Mark and Neal said so well Monday morning as I packed my bags, quit the volunteer program.
One last thing - food for thought if you will - outhouses and showers were erected just a couple weeks prior to my arrival. they were what you would imagine an outhouse to look like, so no big deal there, but get this - when you flushed, the shit went out of the toilet and onto the ground, which happens to be right next to the river (the estancia drinking supply), which happens to be right next to the volunteer campground.
Enough Said. Thats my piece for tonight.
Chris Tompkins
11-14
3PM
Chris Tompkins co-founded Patagonia with Yvonne Chenard.
While I was sleeping in my tent, I overheard Jamie ask Scott if he was ready to go meet Chris. We had heard earlier in the week that Chris Tompkins would be visiting the estancia for a few days - checking up on things. Chris and her husband (founder of North Face) bought the land and started Conservacion Patagonica.
As usual on the estancia, you miss out unless your ears and eyes are persistantly attentive. I threw myself out of the tent and was surprised to see Paula, the CP volunteer coordinator, standing outside my tent. She is never on the estancia because her two sons go to school in Coyhaique - she lives there with her boys while school is in session. We greeted each other in the traditional Chilean way - a kiss on the right cheek - and headed to the Tompkins guest house a few hundred feet from where are tents were pitched.
Chris was sitting in the foyer as we entered the beautiful stone fortress - meticulously but wonderfully decorated - Large photos of the park, argentinian carved wood furniture and leather couches, along with eco-oriented books on the coffee table. Chris, head to toe in Patagonia, sat in her chair bare-foot by the fire, looking cozy and a little annoyed that we were there, as if this were some obligatory meeting she had to attend.
As if in an interview, she had us each give a 30 second tell me about yourself speech. We awkwardly said where we were from, where we went to school, what we do for a living, and for how long we plan to volunteer. When that ended, James asked her to do the same.
Turns out Chris was in the right place at the right time. Chris was born into wealth. She grew up on a ranch in California and had Yvonne Chenard as a neighbor at her family beach ouse. Chris started working for Yvonne at age 15, making 2 bucks an hour helping him with the odds and ends of his climbing gear (mostly pitons) business, which he ran out of his garage.
Chris was a ski racer, but never into climbing as much as her acquaintences were. I dont have the head for it, Chris says, and if she climbed she followed others up routes. One day, Yvonne asked Chris to help him design clothes for climbing and surfing, and Patagonia was born. Chris headed Patagonia for 22 years before retiring. She said she was eager to exit the clothing business. She is still on the board of directors.
She met her husband Doug in Chile, each having been married previously, and fell in love. They started buying up land to preserve in Chile and Argentina. Now they live in Chile close to 10 months out of the year, returning to California occassionaly to do business.
Chris ushered us out shortly after her speech, saying she needed to get online.
Some would say Im lucky to have met Chris, and I must agree. Meeting her has helped form my opinion of the Park and how it is being developed. More on this later, but my opinion is best characterized as Roger and Ebert used to say - two thumbs down.
3PM
Chris Tompkins co-founded Patagonia with Yvonne Chenard.
While I was sleeping in my tent, I overheard Jamie ask Scott if he was ready to go meet Chris. We had heard earlier in the week that Chris Tompkins would be visiting the estancia for a few days - checking up on things. Chris and her husband (founder of North Face) bought the land and started Conservacion Patagonica.
As usual on the estancia, you miss out unless your ears and eyes are persistantly attentive. I threw myself out of the tent and was surprised to see Paula, the CP volunteer coordinator, standing outside my tent. She is never on the estancia because her two sons go to school in Coyhaique - she lives there with her boys while school is in session. We greeted each other in the traditional Chilean way - a kiss on the right cheek - and headed to the Tompkins guest house a few hundred feet from where are tents were pitched.
Chris was sitting in the foyer as we entered the beautiful stone fortress - meticulously but wonderfully decorated - Large photos of the park, argentinian carved wood furniture and leather couches, along with eco-oriented books on the coffee table. Chris, head to toe in Patagonia, sat in her chair bare-foot by the fire, looking cozy and a little annoyed that we were there, as if this were some obligatory meeting she had to attend.
As if in an interview, she had us each give a 30 second tell me about yourself speech. We awkwardly said where we were from, where we went to school, what we do for a living, and for how long we plan to volunteer. When that ended, James asked her to do the same.
Turns out Chris was in the right place at the right time. Chris was born into wealth. She grew up on a ranch in California and had Yvonne Chenard as a neighbor at her family beach ouse. Chris started working for Yvonne at age 15, making 2 bucks an hour helping him with the odds and ends of his climbing gear (mostly pitons) business, which he ran out of his garage.
Chris was a ski racer, but never into climbing as much as her acquaintences were. I dont have the head for it, Chris says, and if she climbed she followed others up routes. One day, Yvonne asked Chris to help him design clothes for climbing and surfing, and Patagonia was born. Chris headed Patagonia for 22 years before retiring. She said she was eager to exit the clothing business. She is still on the board of directors.
She met her husband Doug in Chile, each having been married previously, and fell in love. They started buying up land to preserve in Chile and Argentina. Now they live in Chile close to 10 months out of the year, returning to California occassionaly to do business.
Chris ushered us out shortly after her speech, saying she needed to get online.
Some would say Im lucky to have met Chris, and I must agree. Meeting her has helped form my opinion of the Park and how it is being developed. More on this later, but my opinion is best characterized as Roger and Ebert used to say - two thumbs down.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Owl Pellets
11-22
9PM
Today was a great day. Mark, Neal, Agenta and I wandered around the future Patagonia National Park looking for puma kills. Today it was hares, but pumas here also kill the endangered huemul and the uber populous guanaco. Using data collected from the collars of the 3 pumas, Mark is able to tell where they are spending large chunks of time (4+ hours). This usually means they have killed something and are hanging out at the kill site crunching bones and spitting out hare tails.
Our first few mile hike yielded nothing more than a few tufts of fur. We got lucky on our second site, discovering that one of the pumas had created a cache for the first time. She had killed a hare, and then burried its remains. Another first was the discovery of part of a hare skull in the cache - these pumas are usually very good at devouring every part of the hare except the tail and fur. Typically 1 to 3 of its feet are left. Today we found the tail, fur, part of a jaw bone, the front left leg and an EAR! A cute little ear that had been brutally torn from this bunny´s head.
Our last trek was the longest, hiking through rivers and very wet marshlands. It is spring here, and the temperatures rarely get above 50 degrees during the day. The past few days we´ve seen heavy rain, so my decision to buy new boots and gaiters for this trip was an excellent one. Unfortuantely the two kill sites we visited on our last 8 mile trek yielded no carnage, so we at some chocolate and scurred back to the truck, making it back in time for dinner. My last dinner on the estancia. 17 days on the estancia. The last few with only pan, apples, and a final chocolate bar. I am so ready for a bed. I am so ready to travel alone again.
I wish I could upload photos - in time, in time!
9PM
Today was a great day. Mark, Neal, Agenta and I wandered around the future Patagonia National Park looking for puma kills. Today it was hares, but pumas here also kill the endangered huemul and the uber populous guanaco. Using data collected from the collars of the 3 pumas, Mark is able to tell where they are spending large chunks of time (4+ hours). This usually means they have killed something and are hanging out at the kill site crunching bones and spitting out hare tails.
Our first few mile hike yielded nothing more than a few tufts of fur. We got lucky on our second site, discovering that one of the pumas had created a cache for the first time. She had killed a hare, and then burried its remains. Another first was the discovery of part of a hare skull in the cache - these pumas are usually very good at devouring every part of the hare except the tail and fur. Typically 1 to 3 of its feet are left. Today we found the tail, fur, part of a jaw bone, the front left leg and an EAR! A cute little ear that had been brutally torn from this bunny´s head.
Our last trek was the longest, hiking through rivers and very wet marshlands. It is spring here, and the temperatures rarely get above 50 degrees during the day. The past few days we´ve seen heavy rain, so my decision to buy new boots and gaiters for this trip was an excellent one. Unfortuantely the two kill sites we visited on our last 8 mile trek yielded no carnage, so we at some chocolate and scurred back to the truck, making it back in time for dinner. My last dinner on the estancia. 17 days on the estancia. The last few with only pan, apples, and a final chocolate bar. I am so ready for a bed. I am so ready to travel alone again.
I wish I could upload photos - in time, in time!
In search of Puma
Today is my last full day on the Estancia. I have decided to join Mark the puma hunter and his assistant neal for a 20 mile hike in search of puma cubs and fresh kills. There is also a chance we´ll run into the elusive huemul, which has also started giving birth.
The only problem is the lack of food on the estancia. For some reason, everyone has disappeared, including the cooks, so I am surviving on 3 day old bread and an apple. With 20 miles of walking to do, this should make things quite interesting.
On Tuesday I head back up north to catch a flight down to Punta Arenas.
Will write more tomorrow.
The only problem is the lack of food on the estancia. For some reason, everyone has disappeared, including the cooks, so I am surviving on 3 day old bread and an apple. With 20 miles of walking to do, this should make things quite interesting.
On Tuesday I head back up north to catch a flight down to Punta Arenas.
Will write more tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
I froze last night
11-17
The only reason I´m posting blogs this morning is that I´m up early, before breakfast is served or the volunteers are awake.
It´s been raining here lately, and my tent has started to leak. In the middle of the night I noticed that my tent had leaked so badly, my sleeping bag felt like a wet rag. Of course this is the night I decide to do laundry, and am limited to a pair of thin sweat pants instead of long underwear.
I feel exhausted and cold, fingers frozen as I type, but wanted to share some recent stories with you guys. There are so many stories to share...and not enough time here in the archaeic computer lab. Last night, while I responded to an email or two, the argentinian architects blasted the spanish version of wild things while I tried to focus. Wild things! The only time I hear that is when I happen to pass by a hallmark store around valentine´s day, as the song creeps out of a stuffed bear, holding a mini heart pillow embroidered with BE MY VALENTINE.
I´m not sure what I´ll do about my leaky tent. At least it was so cold this morning that when I sat up I noticed all the drops about to drip onto my forehead had frozen into icicles. It´s been 11 days without a bed and I´m starting to miss a down comforter. And the way bed springs give when you change positions. And the way rain doesn´t fall on you while you dream about pumas.
It´s the little luxuries in life, like having a bed and something other than rice to eat for lunch and dinner, or bread every morning for breakfast, that I miss.
The only reason I´m posting blogs this morning is that I´m up early, before breakfast is served or the volunteers are awake.
It´s been raining here lately, and my tent has started to leak. In the middle of the night I noticed that my tent had leaked so badly, my sleeping bag felt like a wet rag. Of course this is the night I decide to do laundry, and am limited to a pair of thin sweat pants instead of long underwear.
I feel exhausted and cold, fingers frozen as I type, but wanted to share some recent stories with you guys. There are so many stories to share...and not enough time here in the archaeic computer lab. Last night, while I responded to an email or two, the argentinian architects blasted the spanish version of wild things while I tried to focus. Wild things! The only time I hear that is when I happen to pass by a hallmark store around valentine´s day, as the song creeps out of a stuffed bear, holding a mini heart pillow embroidered with BE MY VALENTINE.
I´m not sure what I´ll do about my leaky tent. At least it was so cold this morning that when I sat up I noticed all the drops about to drip onto my forehead had frozen into icicles. It´s been 11 days without a bed and I´m starting to miss a down comforter. And the way bed springs give when you change positions. And the way rain doesn´t fall on you while you dream about pumas.
It´s the little luxuries in life, like having a bed and something other than rice to eat for lunch and dinner, or bread every morning for breakfast, that I miss.
Hidalgo
11-11
Today we got to ride the estancia horses around the park. At 10, we followed Vaten out of the stables and onto the dusty park road.
By far the best way to see the park, James said, as I looked over and noticed that it seemed as if he had ridden horses all his life, although this was only his second time.
My first horse was very obedient, running only when I really encouraged him. The horses here don´t have names, as they are workers not pets. Jamie´s horse, however, had fiery glistening eyes and bobbed its head as if it were a recently shaken coke can, about to explode.
It was sweating profusely under Jamie, who at 6 feet 8 inches and 200 pounds, holds the record for largest CP volunteer ever. At noon we took a lunch break amongst a grove of poplars. I was eager to share my apple with the horses, but it might as well have been a cup of coffee. The animals here don´t eat human food.
After lunch I offered to ride Jamie´s horse the rest of the day, and he eagerly accepted my offer. I adjusted the stirrups, hopped on, and decided that we were a much better fit. She wasn´t sweating and diligently obeyed me. That is, until, we got back onto the road.
Reina Loca (Crazy Queen) as I would come to call her, took off so fast that instead of bobbing up and down in an uncomfortable gallop, I coasted lightly, a few inches above the saddle. Vaten grabbed the reigns, whispering ¨shhh shhh shhhhhhh¨ until she calmed down. I soon learned that Reina was the queen horse, with a need to be the leader, up in front, at all times. AS soon as a horse would try to creep into the lead, she would cut them off, or sprint ahead. If they managed to slip past her while she ate a feast of dandelions, she would throw her head back and sprint.
The only way I could stop her was to pull back so hard on the reigns I thought I might injur her, but it worked, and so I´d let her do 100 m sprints now and again to get it out of her system. She was so happy during these sprints, she would often veer off trail and leap over thorny bushes. During one 10 foot leap I slid off the saddle, but was able to shift my weight back into riding position, accidentally kicking her, sending her off on another burst.
4 hours later we were back at the ranch. I was sore and so was Reina, with gaping bloody wounds where the saddle had rubbed her the wrong way. Luigi arrived not long after we did. When he noticed the sores on my horse I told him it was my horse, jokingly, but it turned out to be his, and he immediately began to treat her wounds.
Although I want to ride again, I don´t want to put these horses through another full day beneath the saddle. I´ll stick to pullin´ weeds if it means these horses don´t have to pull gringos.
Today we got to ride the estancia horses around the park. At 10, we followed Vaten out of the stables and onto the dusty park road.
By far the best way to see the park, James said, as I looked over and noticed that it seemed as if he had ridden horses all his life, although this was only his second time.
My first horse was very obedient, running only when I really encouraged him. The horses here don´t have names, as they are workers not pets. Jamie´s horse, however, had fiery glistening eyes and bobbed its head as if it were a recently shaken coke can, about to explode.
It was sweating profusely under Jamie, who at 6 feet 8 inches and 200 pounds, holds the record for largest CP volunteer ever. At noon we took a lunch break amongst a grove of poplars. I was eager to share my apple with the horses, but it might as well have been a cup of coffee. The animals here don´t eat human food.
After lunch I offered to ride Jamie´s horse the rest of the day, and he eagerly accepted my offer. I adjusted the stirrups, hopped on, and decided that we were a much better fit. She wasn´t sweating and diligently obeyed me. That is, until, we got back onto the road.
Reina Loca (Crazy Queen) as I would come to call her, took off so fast that instead of bobbing up and down in an uncomfortable gallop, I coasted lightly, a few inches above the saddle. Vaten grabbed the reigns, whispering ¨shhh shhh shhhhhhh¨ until she calmed down. I soon learned that Reina was the queen horse, with a need to be the leader, up in front, at all times. AS soon as a horse would try to creep into the lead, she would cut them off, or sprint ahead. If they managed to slip past her while she ate a feast of dandelions, she would throw her head back and sprint.
The only way I could stop her was to pull back so hard on the reigns I thought I might injur her, but it worked, and so I´d let her do 100 m sprints now and again to get it out of her system. She was so happy during these sprints, she would often veer off trail and leap over thorny bushes. During one 10 foot leap I slid off the saddle, but was able to shift my weight back into riding position, accidentally kicking her, sending her off on another burst.
4 hours later we were back at the ranch. I was sore and so was Reina, with gaping bloody wounds where the saddle had rubbed her the wrong way. Luigi arrived not long after we did. When he noticed the sores on my horse I told him it was my horse, jokingly, but it turned out to be his, and he immediately began to treat her wounds.
Although I want to ride again, I don´t want to put these horses through another full day beneath the saddle. I´ll stick to pullin´ weeds if it means these horses don´t have to pull gringos.
It´s alive
11-10
Today, Agneta and I (the newbies) got to talk to Christean, the Conservacion Patagonica (CP)Wildlife Manager, while the 3 other oldies headed off to finish filling a ditch. We learned a lot about the future Patagonia National Park, the details of which I will not go into now, because something far more interesting happened later in the day.
Christean insisted he take us for a drive around the park, ending up at la casa de Ruis, a gaucho-turned-CP employee, where we´d have a ceremonial nice to meet you mate.
There was room for one more, so Amy, a 41 year old landscape architect and Bostonite with the optimism and joy of an 8 year old, hopped in, bird binoculars in hand. We drove past herds of guanaco (what they call the llamas here). They are everywhere and make a noise similar to what I´d imagine a baby t-rex would make. As we neared Ruis´ we drove past the estancia´s sheep farm. Every payday each CP employee gets 2 sheep. It being spring, there were many lambs leaping across the road as we honked our horn to get through.
Then Christean yelled while pointing ¨Look at the condors eating the dead sheep!¨ Agneta and Amy looked through their binoculars, and I waited patiently to see for myself. Then Agneta screamed - IT´S ALIVE!!!! Christean kept driving, although much slower now, and as I grabbed the binoculars from Amy I saw 5 condors pecking a coconut sized hole into a mother sheep, lying on her side. What was most disturbing, even despite the gaping wound, was that she had a baby. The lamb was trying to suckle while her mom was being eaten alive.
We have to shoot it! Do you have a gun? Agneta, a major champion for animals, and a biologist working in conservation herself, screamed with panic. Christean then pulled over, turned off the car, and we all ran toward the scene. Agenta fell hard over some bushes, recovring like a pro football player who had just tripped, in order to make a game winning play.
Vaten, the park ranger, was also with us. As we neared the sheep the condors fled, but the bulbous, bloody wound was obviously not something we could fix. The lamb was covered in blood and it´s mother´s feces, as she was obviously so frightened she couldn´t hold it in. As I was soaking in all the details of what I was witnessing for the first and perhaps last time in my life, Vaten pulled out a knife, fliped the sheep over and stabbed it in the neck.
Holding here gingerly, she bled to death. It took a few minutes, as she kicked and twitched, but she did not make a noise and did not seem to be in pain. Dinner, Vaten said, and Christean greed, as they each grabbed a pair of legs and pulled her through the maze of bushes toward the trunk of the car. Amy scooped up the lamp, who didn´t seem to know what was happening.
And so we headed to Ruis´ house, where I would watch him and Vaten skin and gut the sheep. Christean decided that the lamb, named chaca after valle chacabuco, would be the estancia pet. He said ¨I´ll give it as a gift to a family with kids. They´ll give it milk and take care of it.¨ When we got back to the estancia, as I was making the lamb a harness out of rope, Mark the puma hunter sauntered over to the group of volunteers, as we shared the story of the day.
¨You know they´re going to eat this little guy, right?¨
And that was that. Just another day on the estancia.
Today, Agneta and I (the newbies) got to talk to Christean, the Conservacion Patagonica (CP)Wildlife Manager, while the 3 other oldies headed off to finish filling a ditch. We learned a lot about the future Patagonia National Park, the details of which I will not go into now, because something far more interesting happened later in the day.
Christean insisted he take us for a drive around the park, ending up at la casa de Ruis, a gaucho-turned-CP employee, where we´d have a ceremonial nice to meet you mate.
There was room for one more, so Amy, a 41 year old landscape architect and Bostonite with the optimism and joy of an 8 year old, hopped in, bird binoculars in hand. We drove past herds of guanaco (what they call the llamas here). They are everywhere and make a noise similar to what I´d imagine a baby t-rex would make. As we neared Ruis´ we drove past the estancia´s sheep farm. Every payday each CP employee gets 2 sheep. It being spring, there were many lambs leaping across the road as we honked our horn to get through.
Then Christean yelled while pointing ¨Look at the condors eating the dead sheep!¨ Agneta and Amy looked through their binoculars, and I waited patiently to see for myself. Then Agneta screamed - IT´S ALIVE!!!! Christean kept driving, although much slower now, and as I grabbed the binoculars from Amy I saw 5 condors pecking a coconut sized hole into a mother sheep, lying on her side. What was most disturbing, even despite the gaping wound, was that she had a baby. The lamb was trying to suckle while her mom was being eaten alive.
We have to shoot it! Do you have a gun? Agneta, a major champion for animals, and a biologist working in conservation herself, screamed with panic. Christean then pulled over, turned off the car, and we all ran toward the scene. Agenta fell hard over some bushes, recovring like a pro football player who had just tripped, in order to make a game winning play.
Vaten, the park ranger, was also with us. As we neared the sheep the condors fled, but the bulbous, bloody wound was obviously not something we could fix. The lamb was covered in blood and it´s mother´s feces, as she was obviously so frightened she couldn´t hold it in. As I was soaking in all the details of what I was witnessing for the first and perhaps last time in my life, Vaten pulled out a knife, fliped the sheep over and stabbed it in the neck.
Holding here gingerly, she bled to death. It took a few minutes, as she kicked and twitched, but she did not make a noise and did not seem to be in pain. Dinner, Vaten said, and Christean greed, as they each grabbed a pair of legs and pulled her through the maze of bushes toward the trunk of the car. Amy scooped up the lamp, who didn´t seem to know what was happening.
And so we headed to Ruis´ house, where I would watch him and Vaten skin and gut the sheep. Christean decided that the lamb, named chaca after valle chacabuco, would be the estancia pet. He said ¨I´ll give it as a gift to a family with kids. They´ll give it milk and take care of it.¨ When we got back to the estancia, as I was making the lamb a harness out of rope, Mark the puma hunter sauntered over to the group of volunteers, as we shared the story of the day.
¨You know they´re going to eat this little guy, right?¨
And that was that. Just another day on the estancia.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
First Picture
I don´t have a way to upload the photos I take, but Amy, a fellow volunteer, has an iPhone on the trip. She was kind enough to snap a photo of me and agneta on our hike Sunday afternoon. So, here it is. This place really is beautiful!
I´m really enjoying amy, agneta, james, jamie and sommerset. They are all very different, which is fantastic.
SO MUCH TO WRITE! SO LITTLE TIME! (aka the internet is spotty and all the volunteers want to get online too...oh yeah, the password is a random smattering of numbers that is impossible to remember).
Sunday, November 8, 2009
My first Mate
I woke up yesterday morning to see James and Mark, the puma hunter, sipping mate from a foreign-looking drinking vessel...wooden bowl and silver pipe. I joined them for my first mate experience, which was quite relaxing and enjoyable, even though I hate tea.
Mark taught me the rules of the game, like only accept the mate with your right hand, a minimum of two rounds is polite, only say Gracias when you´re finished, and that its okay to slurp to signal that you´ve drained the mate of water.
Mate is simply water and tea, unless the host is a patagon women or argentine, in which case it is accompanied by azucar.
Mark, the puma hunter, looks the type - rugged, weather-worn, tough exterior with a softness inside for the lions. The day before he had caputured a puma and showed us a video of the gorgeous, enormous, grey cat. He insists there is no need to worry about a puma pouncing on us while hiking, but something tells me not to go out by myself at sunset...and if at all possible to not go out there alone.
I imagine Mark is a loner and introvert who sees as lot of volunteers come and go, but welcomes the chance to share his knowledge of the land and the people. Perhaps this lifestyle has made him a little less prone to demonstrations of overwhelming enthusiasm, but Mark has a gentle and very friendly way about him. I like Mark. and I like Mate.
Mark taught me the rules of the game, like only accept the mate with your right hand, a minimum of two rounds is polite, only say Gracias when you´re finished, and that its okay to slurp to signal that you´ve drained the mate of water.
Mate is simply water and tea, unless the host is a patagon women or argentine, in which case it is accompanied by azucar.
Mark, the puma hunter, looks the type - rugged, weather-worn, tough exterior with a softness inside for the lions. The day before he had caputured a puma and showed us a video of the gorgeous, enormous, grey cat. He insists there is no need to worry about a puma pouncing on us while hiking, but something tells me not to go out by myself at sunset...and if at all possible to not go out there alone.
I imagine Mark is a loner and introvert who sees as lot of volunteers come and go, but welcomes the chance to share his knowledge of the land and the people. Perhaps this lifestyle has made him a little less prone to demonstrations of overwhelming enthusiasm, but Mark has a gentle and very friendly way about him. I like Mark. and I like Mate.
Patagonia SIN REPRESA
This place, where I´ll be living for the next few weeks, is for the most part untouched, wild and beautiful. There is a damn, which Luigi, one of my bosses, calls ironic, but the landscape is raw and Conservacion Patagonica has done a good job keeping it this way.
Yesterday was my first day of work on the estancia. Me, James, Jamie and Amy spent the morning and afternoon shoveling dirt into a ditch that sheep had made. Basically, we were helping to restore the land back to its original state. It felt so good to be shoveling dirt surrounded by snow-capped mountains, jagged rocks, rolling green hills, and of course a herd of llamas.
We moved out of the house and into our tents at lunch. I set mine up so I face a row of poplars, and above those, a snow-capped range. Toward the end of my first work day, around 430 pm, as antonia was driving last load of dirt to the ditch, the trailer hitch snapped, a clean break, leaving a trailer full of mud, grass and animal bones in the middle of the road. Several failed attempts to reconnect the trailer later, the crew wished him good luck and rode back to the estancia.
The workers figured something out - by the time we left the estancia to head into the town of Cochrane for beer and chocolate, the trailer had been reattached and driven back to the estancia. All in a days work on the estancia.
Yesterday was my first day of work on the estancia. Me, James, Jamie and Amy spent the morning and afternoon shoveling dirt into a ditch that sheep had made. Basically, we were helping to restore the land back to its original state. It felt so good to be shoveling dirt surrounded by snow-capped mountains, jagged rocks, rolling green hills, and of course a herd of llamas.
We moved out of the house and into our tents at lunch. I set mine up so I face a row of poplars, and above those, a snow-capped range. Toward the end of my first work day, around 430 pm, as antonia was driving last load of dirt to the ditch, the trailer hitch snapped, a clean break, leaving a trailer full of mud, grass and animal bones in the middle of the road. Several failed attempts to reconnect the trailer later, the crew wished him good luck and rode back to the estancia.
The workers figured something out - by the time we left the estancia to head into the town of Cochrane for beer and chocolate, the trailer had been reattached and driven back to the estancia. All in a days work on the estancia.
Welcome to the Estancia
After a 22 hour bus ride Wednesday into Thursday, I boarded another bus from Coyhaique to Valley Chacabuco, Enrada Baker Crossing, the entryway to the estancia, where I´d be spending the next 3 weeks.
This bus ride was smoother, and far shorter at just over 7 hours. I was dropped off in a beautiful valley, adjacent to the chacabuco river, a thing strip of striking turquoise. Within 15 minutes, James, Pablo and Abel arrived in a truck to pick me up. A bumpy 10 minutes later and we had arrived at the estancia. A series of original and very old buildings that housed administration, the casino (what the call the cafeteria here) and the workers quarters. Although I´d get a bad that first night, we´d be tents the rest of the time.
James, a lanky but athletic redhead, eminated confidence. It was as if James was the younger brother of the two chilean workers, sharing inside jokes while listening to music from a cell phone the entire ride back. James has been here for a month and half and plans to stay for 6 months as an intern. He´s obviously had no problem fitting in here, with his confident but laid back style. After a quick tour and a short hike around the property, it was dinner time.
Until Friday I had made it over a week in chile eating fish just a few times, but tonight I was served a mound of potatoes with peas and carrots and a chicken leg. The chicken juices flavored the potatos quite nicely, I must admit, but I handed the leg to james...he is on the last hole of his belt and needs the food more than I do.
This bus ride was smoother, and far shorter at just over 7 hours. I was dropped off in a beautiful valley, adjacent to the chacabuco river, a thing strip of striking turquoise. Within 15 minutes, James, Pablo and Abel arrived in a truck to pick me up. A bumpy 10 minutes later and we had arrived at the estancia. A series of original and very old buildings that housed administration, the casino (what the call the cafeteria here) and the workers quarters. Although I´d get a bad that first night, we´d be tents the rest of the time.
James, a lanky but athletic redhead, eminated confidence. It was as if James was the younger brother of the two chilean workers, sharing inside jokes while listening to music from a cell phone the entire ride back. James has been here for a month and half and plans to stay for 6 months as an intern. He´s obviously had no problem fitting in here, with his confident but laid back style. After a quick tour and a short hike around the property, it was dinner time.
Until Friday I had made it over a week in chile eating fish just a few times, but tonight I was served a mound of potatoes with peas and carrots and a chicken leg. The chicken juices flavored the potatos quite nicely, I must admit, but I handed the leg to james...he is on the last hole of his belt and needs the food more than I do.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
off to be uncivilized
Paula came to my hostal to chat with me today. She had tea and I had the strongest cafe in the universe. Paula made a bus reservation for me for tomorrow. Aquario 13, leaving at 930 am for Valley Chacabuco, Entrada Baker crossing (where I will be from 11-06 until the end of November).
I thought I´d be camping for 4 days, and resting for 2, but Paula informed me I´d be camping the entire time. They do have hot showers and I can use the laundry and computer in the park ranger station, but camping for three weeks straight? This will be interesting. I´m off to the grocery store to buy beer and chocolate.
I should have access to email once a week...
I thought I´d be camping for 4 days, and resting for 2, but Paula informed me I´d be camping the entire time. They do have hot showers and I can use the laundry and computer in the park ranger station, but camping for three weeks straight? This will be interesting. I´m off to the grocery store to buy beer and chocolate.
I should have access to email once a week...
I love my family
Being away from home in a place where nobody loves you is really tough. But it makes you realize and cherish what you´ve got back home more than you ever have before. That´s why people need to live life for themselves and not others - you will continually be reminded of the importance and meaning of those close to you. I will never stop living life for myself, perhaps selfishly, but I believe this will bring me closer to the people in my life who mean something, and perhaps farther from those who don´t. What a great filter traveling can be. Mom, dad, Jeff, you guys are the chunks of gold in my pan!
I know, I´m weird.
I know, I´m weird.
the sound of music
an american wearing solomons sits next to me at this internet cafe and it is the prettiest sound I have ever heard! I want to make conversation, but I won´t. Stray from the familiar, walk toward the strange!
Argentina
One good part about the bus ride was that I saw something incredible.
Something my words can´t describe.
So all I can tell you is that as we drove by, I tried my best to memorize what I had seen - the tall yellow trees, frozen in the direction of the wind, the lake of turquoise waves, splashing happily against the rocky shore, the jagged snow-capped mountains rising from the water thousands of feet - again, this is not what I saw, this is only my words trying to describe what I saw.
What I witnessed in Argentina, as I entered Patagonia, made me more aware of my soul than I ever had been before.
This is why I´m here.
Something my words can´t describe.
So all I can tell you is that as we drove by, I tried my best to memorize what I had seen - the tall yellow trees, frozen in the direction of the wind, the lake of turquoise waves, splashing happily against the rocky shore, the jagged snow-capped mountains rising from the water thousands of feet - again, this is not what I saw, this is only my words trying to describe what I saw.
What I witnessed in Argentina, as I entered Patagonia, made me more aware of my soul than I ever had been before.
This is why I´m here.
it´s real now
After a 22 hour bus ride from Puerto Montt to Coyhaique, the fact that I´m traveling alone, really alone, has struck me with such frightening force that all I can seem to do today is sleep and roam around the maze of streets that is coyhaique.
I considered taking a local bus down to puerto montt from puerto varas a huge accomplishment, hailing it down, paying 700 pesos, buying my ticket to coyhaique from the terminal de buses, and making my way back safely...but the true accomplishment was not pissing my pants yesterday.
I got to the station at 1030 am, just to make sure I wouldn´t miss my 12 pm bus departure. At 12, I walked up to the Queilen bus terminal, and had to speak spanish with the teller for a few minutes to find that there was a sick person on the incoming bus and it would not leave until 2 pm. He would not tell me where I had to catch the bus, so I sat on my pack outside his window, until 2 pm.
Not a single soul with blue eyes got on that bus to coyhaique. They were all south american, and probably all chilean, and from the few people I managed to exchange 2 year old conversations with, I think many of them were from coyhaique, going home for a visit.
A 70 year old man, wearing courderoy pants and red leather shoes sat next to me. I think he immediately took pity on me, sitting there with my canvas bag and headphones on, looking bewildered and nervous. He decided then, perhaps, that I´d be his grandkid for the trip. And Thank God.
The bus rolled out a tad after 2 and the bus attendant ran down the aisle, speaking spanish so fast I could not understand. I´m sure he was giving us all very important information, like how many times we´d be stopping and for how long, what we´d need at the immigration stops (the bus had to enter argentina for a stretch) and when wed arrive. And I wrapped my american brain around absolutely none of it.
So when we stopped for gas and had to get off, I had no idea, but grandpa domingo grabbed my arm. Same for food. Same for bathroom. Same for immigration.
Because we entered Argentina to bypass the mountains to get to Coyhaique, we had to stop at immigration 4 times (leaving chile, entering argentina, leaving argentina, entering chile). We´d be shoved into a tiny office, form a haphazard line, show the policia a variety of paperwork (changed each time). At one point the bus driver collected our ids (or in my case passport) for 10 hours!
Upon entering argentina, the policeman took my chilean visa. I had no idea what was going on, and nobody during the entirety of the trip spoke english, so I let it be, and it worried me the whole time. Sure enough, upon reentering chile, the police officer asked where it was. A fight between him and my bus driver ensued, arms and tongues flailing, until my passport was stamped and handed back to me.
And so 22 hours later I arrive in Coyhaique, ask my grandpa if he knows the address of the hostal I´m going to, and he leads me to his friend, a taxi driver. I hop in and get dropped off at Hostal Bon, which is really just a lady´s house, and is locked.
10 minutes later she lets me in, takes me to a room and I collapse for a nap.
I considered taking a local bus down to puerto montt from puerto varas a huge accomplishment, hailing it down, paying 700 pesos, buying my ticket to coyhaique from the terminal de buses, and making my way back safely...but the true accomplishment was not pissing my pants yesterday.
I got to the station at 1030 am, just to make sure I wouldn´t miss my 12 pm bus departure. At 12, I walked up to the Queilen bus terminal, and had to speak spanish with the teller for a few minutes to find that there was a sick person on the incoming bus and it would not leave until 2 pm. He would not tell me where I had to catch the bus, so I sat on my pack outside his window, until 2 pm.
Not a single soul with blue eyes got on that bus to coyhaique. They were all south american, and probably all chilean, and from the few people I managed to exchange 2 year old conversations with, I think many of them were from coyhaique, going home for a visit.
A 70 year old man, wearing courderoy pants and red leather shoes sat next to me. I think he immediately took pity on me, sitting there with my canvas bag and headphones on, looking bewildered and nervous. He decided then, perhaps, that I´d be his grandkid for the trip. And Thank God.
The bus rolled out a tad after 2 and the bus attendant ran down the aisle, speaking spanish so fast I could not understand. I´m sure he was giving us all very important information, like how many times we´d be stopping and for how long, what we´d need at the immigration stops (the bus had to enter argentina for a stretch) and when wed arrive. And I wrapped my american brain around absolutely none of it.
So when we stopped for gas and had to get off, I had no idea, but grandpa domingo grabbed my arm. Same for food. Same for bathroom. Same for immigration.
Because we entered Argentina to bypass the mountains to get to Coyhaique, we had to stop at immigration 4 times (leaving chile, entering argentina, leaving argentina, entering chile). We´d be shoved into a tiny office, form a haphazard line, show the policia a variety of paperwork (changed each time). At one point the bus driver collected our ids (or in my case passport) for 10 hours!
Upon entering argentina, the policeman took my chilean visa. I had no idea what was going on, and nobody during the entirety of the trip spoke english, so I let it be, and it worried me the whole time. Sure enough, upon reentering chile, the police officer asked where it was. A fight between him and my bus driver ensued, arms and tongues flailing, until my passport was stamped and handed back to me.
And so 22 hours later I arrive in Coyhaique, ask my grandpa if he knows the address of the hostal I´m going to, and he leads me to his friend, a taxi driver. I hop in and get dropped off at Hostal Bon, which is really just a lady´s house, and is locked.
10 minutes later she lets me in, takes me to a room and I collapse for a nap.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Licor de Oro
I bought a bottle of Licor de Oro at the handicraft fair in Puerto Montt yesterday. Nobody could translate for me what it actually was, but I asked the seller what his favorite flavor was. Para Mujeres o hombres? he asked. Mujeres, I responded, and he poured me a cup of thick, white liquid.
It was amazing. Like eggnog on christmas day. I bought a bottle for 2500 pesos.
Later, I found out it comes from cow´s milk. Leche de Vaca. Gross! But some how soooooo delicious.
I wish I could ship you all a bottle. Perhaps I will try.
it ain´t easy getting to coyhaique
Gonzalo, bless his peaceful yoga warrior heart, spent an hour helping me figure out how to get to Coyhaique by the end of the week, where Paula has reserved me a night in a hostal.
None of the websites are in english. Some sites claim a service will take you there, but when you call they deny it, or the online reviews are so terrible that you think you may never arrive there even if you do get a ticket.
Finally, this morning, Gonzalo made a phone call that ended my searh. Quielen Bus service will take you from Puerto Montto to Coyhaique for 50 dollars. Beats flying for 200. It is a 22 hour ride, leaving tomorrow (Wednesday 11-04) at noon and arrives in Coyhaique Thursday at 10 a.m. He says they provide snacks and stop for dinner. PHEW!!!! I´m off to Puerto Montt to get my ticket.
I will get to spend another night here in Puerto Varas, and climb with Paolo, and then tomorrow morning I am off to Coyhaique! Chao amigos!
None of the websites are in english. Some sites claim a service will take you there, but when you call they deny it, or the online reviews are so terrible that you think you may never arrive there even if you do get a ticket.
Finally, this morning, Gonzalo made a phone call that ended my searh. Quielen Bus service will take you from Puerto Montto to Coyhaique for 50 dollars. Beats flying for 200. It is a 22 hour ride, leaving tomorrow (Wednesday 11-04) at noon and arrives in Coyhaique Thursday at 10 a.m. He says they provide snacks and stop for dinner. PHEW!!!! I´m off to Puerto Montt to get my ticket.
I will get to spend another night here in Puerto Varas, and climb with Paolo, and then tomorrow morning I am off to Coyhaique! Chao amigos!
Bouldering Cave in the basement!
The only thing that could make this place better is a climbing gym, I thought, as Gonzalo gave me the hostal tour. While discussing favorite activities, and Gonzalo inviting me to take a yoga class while I´m here, I mentioned my passion for climbing.
Come downstairs, he motioned, and we descended a dusty, crumbling stone staircase. I first noticed climbing shoes and chalk bags, hanging from nails on the wall and nearly lost it. We turned a corner to arrive at a small bouldering cave with marked routes. All my friends here are climbers, he said. Paolo built this wall. It is yours to play on!
Later that night, Paolo showed up for his climbing session (every morning and night for one hour, he says) and invited me to climb with him. We bouldered for an hour, and he was impressed that I could do all the problems (even one he couldn´t do). Strong for a girl! he said, and shook my hand when I finished a route he fell on.
Paolo speaks italian, spanish, portuguese and english, and is a bike and hike guide here in Puerto Varas. I love my country! He always says, and told me about a secret climbing place. A place I immediately went online to see pictures of. He made me promise to keep it a secret, so those friends who are loyal enough to read my blog, you will ask me about it and instead of telling you I will tell you we should all go there together on our next trip. Perhaps January of 2011. (I have attached a picture from online to wet your appetite). Start planning.
I don´t think I´ll have time to go to this secret amazing incredible climbing place this trip, but it is on my to do list.
My heart floats when I walk on these streets
11-03
930 AM
I made it Puerto Varas yesterday.
I was asleep when we arrived from Puerto Montt, where we had lunch at the local fish market, where I made my 3rd offense agaisnt my vegetarianism with a plate of salmon, covered in cheese, as usual, and riddled with bones. Walker ordered a plate of the sea - literally everything that lives beneath the waves was dead on his plate. He was surprised that the abalone was cooked. Turns out restaurants must cook all the seafood they serve so people do not catch the red sea disease. I bought some alpaca socks and scarf at the handicraft fair and took some fantastic pictures of boats, sea lions, pelicans, and dogs.
We pulled into ¨Sweet Home Puerto Varas¨, our hostal for the night, and when I stepped off the bus I almost fell into a large OM sign which had been dug into the ground. A large rose bush of the most lilac purple sat by the wooden archway. The house is a yoga studio and hostal in one, and the place has been decorated with attention to every square inch. The green bedspreads and the soft yellow walls, the large brightly colored paintings in every room, the hand carved wooden table in the kitchen...spectacular.
I dropped my pack and hit the street, noticing the lake just a few hundred feet fromt he door, and a large ship sleeping at the port. The german architecture and chocolate shops lined the street as I descended the hill into the plaza de armas. Unlike most ciudades before this, I could anticipate the streets, as everything was in a grid format, and I found my way around easily.
Gonzalo, the hostal owner, insists this place has an energy (not surprising coming from a yoga instructor) but you know, he´s right. I am truly at home in Puerto Varas. I could live here all my life despite the constant rain. Luckily, I don´t have to leave today, but when a do, a part of me will long for this place forever.
930 AM
I made it Puerto Varas yesterday.
I was asleep when we arrived from Puerto Montt, where we had lunch at the local fish market, where I made my 3rd offense agaisnt my vegetarianism with a plate of salmon, covered in cheese, as usual, and riddled with bones. Walker ordered a plate of the sea - literally everything that lives beneath the waves was dead on his plate. He was surprised that the abalone was cooked. Turns out restaurants must cook all the seafood they serve so people do not catch the red sea disease. I bought some alpaca socks and scarf at the handicraft fair and took some fantastic pictures of boats, sea lions, pelicans, and dogs.
We pulled into ¨Sweet Home Puerto Varas¨, our hostal for the night, and when I stepped off the bus I almost fell into a large OM sign which had been dug into the ground. A large rose bush of the most lilac purple sat by the wooden archway. The house is a yoga studio and hostal in one, and the place has been decorated with attention to every square inch. The green bedspreads and the soft yellow walls, the large brightly colored paintings in every room, the hand carved wooden table in the kitchen...spectacular.
I dropped my pack and hit the street, noticing the lake just a few hundred feet fromt he door, and a large ship sleeping at the port. The german architecture and chocolate shops lined the street as I descended the hill into the plaza de armas. Unlike most ciudades before this, I could anticipate the streets, as everything was in a grid format, and I found my way around easily.
Gonzalo, the hostal owner, insists this place has an energy (not surprising coming from a yoga instructor) but you know, he´s right. I am truly at home in Puerto Varas. I could live here all my life despite the constant rain. Luckily, I don´t have to leave today, but when a do, a part of me will long for this place forever.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
red neck hippie
Walker is a red neck hippie, my guess is the only one in the world?
He´s owned a bar in cambodia. He´s been cornered by 20 stray dogs in Samoa after a hurricane (saved by a local who beat the dogs with a stick). He grew pot on a hippie commune in California in the 70´s. He taught english in jails for several years. He almost lost a leg from a spider bite in India. Thankfully there are no poisonous spiders in Chile, or snakes.
Walker went to a hospital near Nepal a couple days after he was bitten, and it started to spread and get infected. The hospital was littered with dirty bandages and stray dogs. None of the doctors spoke english. They just motioned with a straight hand in chopping motion over his leg, just below the knee. Walker lost it and called the British embassy.
They rushed a doctor over who said ¨Yep. this is bad. they cut legs off that look like that in this country. But let me try to cut it out and load you with more antibiotics than is legal anywhere in the world.¨
It worked, and walker got to keep his leg, but he had to return to America promptly, for proper medical care.
Walker alternate girlfriends and travel every six months. ¨My last one was a librarian. She gave me the best documentaries. I miss those. Not her.¨ He drinks beer all day instead of water because he knows it´s safe to drink. ¨I never claimed to be a healthy guy¨ Walker chuckles, as he throws back his 10th escudo, a popular (and quite tasty) beer in Chile.
Wakler the red neck hippie. At 65, My most unlikely favorite person on this trip so far.
He´s owned a bar in cambodia. He´s been cornered by 20 stray dogs in Samoa after a hurricane (saved by a local who beat the dogs with a stick). He grew pot on a hippie commune in California in the 70´s. He taught english in jails for several years. He almost lost a leg from a spider bite in India. Thankfully there are no poisonous spiders in Chile, or snakes.
Walker went to a hospital near Nepal a couple days after he was bitten, and it started to spread and get infected. The hospital was littered with dirty bandages and stray dogs. None of the doctors spoke english. They just motioned with a straight hand in chopping motion over his leg, just below the knee. Walker lost it and called the British embassy.
They rushed a doctor over who said ¨Yep. this is bad. they cut legs off that look like that in this country. But let me try to cut it out and load you with more antibiotics than is legal anywhere in the world.¨
It worked, and walker got to keep his leg, but he had to return to America promptly, for proper medical care.
Walker alternate girlfriends and travel every six months. ¨My last one was a librarian. She gave me the best documentaries. I miss those. Not her.¨ He drinks beer all day instead of water because he knows it´s safe to drink. ¨I never claimed to be a healthy guy¨ Walker chuckles, as he throws back his 10th escudo, a popular (and quite tasty) beer in Chile.
Wakler the red neck hippie. At 65, My most unlikely favorite person on this trip so far.
Please remember me
Instead of saying please remind me, our guide Nicole said Please remember me, in such a serious voice I was forced to laugh out loud. Then, commenting on Walker´s beard, she said ¨Walker I like your barf!¨ Walker, a better person than I, said ¨thanks, I like my beard too.¨
Puzones Hot Springs
On Halloween we ventured away from Pucon to Puzones Hot Springs, a series of pools with temps between 95 and 105 F right along a class IV river. Thankfully there are no nudists howling at the moon with axe in hand here.
In the hottest of pools I met Jerry Laker, an ecologist who moved to Pucon from Scottland to do conservation work, in particular to work with the farmers to curb the puma shootings. The real problem, Jerry says, is the stray dogs. ¨I´d shoot the lot of them.¨
Turns out Jerry worked in Cochrane, where I´ll be working, with the same crew at Conservacion Patagonica. In fact, he knows the very people I have been emailing to set my volunteer project up. He met his wife Piaa there as well, who has since started a school in Pucon. ¨It´s the most beautiful land you will ever know,¨ says Jerry. The animals don´t see humans as a threat like they do everywhere else, and will let you get close, even touch them at times (pic of huemel above).
Jerry instructed me to have Christian show me the huemel. ¨He´s got a special spot. Tell him to take you there.¨ And so I will.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Tomorrow - Valdivia
Can you tell it has raind nonstop since this morning by the number of blog posts.
Gringo vs. Chilean on Strays
I´m suddenly intrigued by the striking difference between how the US handles strays and how the chileans do. I came across the following exchange on a forum discussing this very topic.
Gringo
No place in Chile have I seen street dogs like you find in Mexico or Guatemala. You very rarely see their ribs showing in Chile. I have also seen neighborhoods in Santiago where all the people owned dogs, and they all took care of the street dogs in the local Park. They would invite the street dogs home for lunch and take them to the vet when they had problems. These dogs where just part of the neighborhood, and lived in the bushes. Other than that they were like any of the other dog. They even had names.
It is a political problem in that the local governments are not taking care of the public health issues of controlling street dogs. Street dogs are not on any high priority list when the real political battles are over how streets will be paved and who will pave them.
Chilan
Your opinion is basically right but makes me realize how diferent are gringo and latino view in some issues. For most of us (chileans), I guess, stray dogs are not a problem at all, they have a good life living in freedom, maybe better than some pets confined in small spaces as many chileans use to keep them.
Maybe Chile is not a poor country but many of us think that goverment money has many priorities other than take care for stray dogs, paved roads is a good example! This may explain why goverment is not to worried about street dogs.
Gringo
No place in Chile have I seen street dogs like you find in Mexico or Guatemala. You very rarely see their ribs showing in Chile. I have also seen neighborhoods in Santiago where all the people owned dogs, and they all took care of the street dogs in the local Park. They would invite the street dogs home for lunch and take them to the vet when they had problems. These dogs where just part of the neighborhood, and lived in the bushes. Other than that they were like any of the other dog. They even had names.
It is a political problem in that the local governments are not taking care of the public health issues of controlling street dogs. Street dogs are not on any high priority list when the real political battles are over how streets will be paved and who will pave them.
Chilan
Your opinion is basically right but makes me realize how diferent are gringo and latino view in some issues. For most of us (chileans), I guess, stray dogs are not a problem at all, they have a good life living in freedom, maybe better than some pets confined in small spaces as many chileans use to keep them.
Maybe Chile is not a poor country but many of us think that goverment money has many priorities other than take care for stray dogs, paved roads is a good example! This may explain why goverment is not to worried about street dogs.
Dogs on Colo Colo street
So after I affirm through my blog that I´m destined to work for the welfare of dogs the rest of my life, I put on my rain gear, and leave the sleepy house on colo colo street to explore the town of Pucon.
I turn my first corner and there are at least half a dozen sleeping dogs outside a cyber cafe. I quietly remove my camera, but then one by one, in speed-of-light quickness, the dogs pop there heads up and run toward me. Like well behaved house dogs (at first) they surround me in a sit pose. Looking affectionately up at me as if waiting for what´s is owed them-treats!
I stand there until one of them slowly crawls up and onto me, legs pressed against my stomach, nose in the air as if trying to determine my breakfast. I was a little concerned, and started to walk away, but like a herd of elephants protecting their baby, they followed me. Every cafe I tried to enter, to escape them, was closed.
Then I remembered I had snacks in the side pockets of my pack. I stopped to throw them in deeper into my pack, and the barking began. One would purposely run into me and the other would be waiting to receive me and nudge me with his nose. The Chileans watched me without concern, either this was the norm or they enjoyed watching an american in peril.
I tried to cross the street but a car cut me off. At this, the dogs ran screaming after the car, biting at its tires, blocking it from going further until the car reved it´s engine and tore through them (thankfully none of them got hit).
This is my chance! I thought, and I made a break for la casa de buen pan, which had just opened. The dogs ran up to the door and when I thought they´d sprint into the pastry shop and knock over the display of postres, they just haulted at the doorway and sat, smiling, waiting for me. I ordered my coffee. They sat, waiting. I ordered a cookie. They sat, waiting. I read my book. They sat, waiting. Another person walked by with FOOD and they SAT, WAITING!
Finally, they tired of waiting and returned to their dorm outside the cyber cafe, and passed out. I will show you all pictures of this gang de pucon perros when I return. Soy una dama de los perros.
I turn my first corner and there are at least half a dozen sleeping dogs outside a cyber cafe. I quietly remove my camera, but then one by one, in speed-of-light quickness, the dogs pop there heads up and run toward me. Like well behaved house dogs (at first) they surround me in a sit pose. Looking affectionately up at me as if waiting for what´s is owed them-treats!
I stand there until one of them slowly crawls up and onto me, legs pressed against my stomach, nose in the air as if trying to determine my breakfast. I was a little concerned, and started to walk away, but like a herd of elephants protecting their baby, they followed me. Every cafe I tried to enter, to escape them, was closed.
Then I remembered I had snacks in the side pockets of my pack. I stopped to throw them in deeper into my pack, and the barking began. One would purposely run into me and the other would be waiting to receive me and nudge me with his nose. The Chileans watched me without concern, either this was the norm or they enjoyed watching an american in peril.
I tried to cross the street but a car cut me off. At this, the dogs ran screaming after the car, biting at its tires, blocking it from going further until the car reved it´s engine and tore through them (thankfully none of them got hit).
This is my chance! I thought, and I made a break for la casa de buen pan, which had just opened. The dogs ran up to the door and when I thought they´d sprint into the pastry shop and knock over the display of postres, they just haulted at the doorway and sat, smiling, waiting for me. I ordered my coffee. They sat, waiting. I ordered a cookie. They sat, waiting. I read my book. They sat, waiting. Another person walked by with FOOD and they SAT, WAITING!
Finally, they tired of waiting and returned to their dorm outside the cyber cafe, and passed out. I will show you all pictures of this gang de pucon perros when I return. Soy una dama de los perros.
Perros de mi corozon
People say you should do what you love, that way it doesn´t feel like work. A tiny or enormous part of this trip, whether I admit it or not, is that I´m in search of something, some way I can help. I´ve flirted with the peace corps by filling out an application (they keep sending me love letters which I´ve ignored), I´ve always wanted to be a teacher but they don´t need english teachers these days, and if altruism paid I´d be a volunteer the rest of my life, but I can´t accept being a consultant for the next 20 years (if I come close to suicide a few times), or 40 years (if I pace myself and retire at the ¨normal¨ age).
Oddly enough, having only been here 6 days, I´m starting to realize what I love. And it´s not people so much as it is animals. The stray dogs here are not what you´d expect. They aren´t snarling, flea-covered beasts, with glossy eyes and patches of missing fur. They are shaggy, beautiful muts who wag their tails or twitch an ear when you approach. They don´t beg, they cleverly and patiently sit outside stores, or make friends with vendors selling nuts or empanadas (you never see a dog by a FRUTAS stand).
These dogs have let me take countless pictures of them. How could I not - they are on every street in every Chilean town. I asked my guide last night, if these dogs belong to someone. No, she said, they are all free and wild but they manage quite well, even in the dessert. The bus driver, Jorge, chimed in ¨Only in Chile do these dogs stay free (interesting that they call it free and not stray). Not in Peru, he says, as he motions his hand toward his mouth with a piece of bread, implying that in Peru, dogs are food. The bus driver follows this gesture with a hearty laugh and goes back to drinking his Orange Crush.
So I started wondering about these dogs. They don´t look starved and they seem to have several partial owners - street vendors, workers who pass them every day on the way to work, and school children, who the dogs seem to especially like for the crumbs in their pockets. They obviously aren´t treated the way dogs are treated in the US. Dogs there are babies, children, members of the family. With their own rooms, down comforters, eating lounges, scheduled hair cuts and manicures, and several doctors visits yearly). Dogs here are free to be dogs. But with freedom comes danger, and these dogs face danger every day in the form of cars, other less friendly dogs, people who are anti-dog, just to name a few.
In my two days in Santiago I passed one dog in particular who, although sleeping, managed to dive into my chest and rip out my heart. He was small, a cattle dog-lab mix perhaps, he had short fur unlike most other dogs, and he always seemed to sleep peacefully next to this one street vendor who sold papers, magazines, and snacks. As I looked closer I noticed a huge gash on the inside of his left leg - red, gaping, and very infected. I wanted to lure him to a vet, or run back to my first aid kit and treat it with neosporin and gauze, or pay the vendor to take him in, but I didn´t do it. Not even after watching him hobble on three legs around the nearby courtyard as school children giggled past carrying their lunches, hoping for a scrap.
I need to do something for these dogs. I´m not sure what it is yet, but I´ll think of something. And when I do, I´ll let you know.
Oddly enough, having only been here 6 days, I´m starting to realize what I love. And it´s not people so much as it is animals. The stray dogs here are not what you´d expect. They aren´t snarling, flea-covered beasts, with glossy eyes and patches of missing fur. They are shaggy, beautiful muts who wag their tails or twitch an ear when you approach. They don´t beg, they cleverly and patiently sit outside stores, or make friends with vendors selling nuts or empanadas (you never see a dog by a FRUTAS stand).
These dogs have let me take countless pictures of them. How could I not - they are on every street in every Chilean town. I asked my guide last night, if these dogs belong to someone. No, she said, they are all free and wild but they manage quite well, even in the dessert. The bus driver, Jorge, chimed in ¨Only in Chile do these dogs stay free (interesting that they call it free and not stray). Not in Peru, he says, as he motions his hand toward his mouth with a piece of bread, implying that in Peru, dogs are food. The bus driver follows this gesture with a hearty laugh and goes back to drinking his Orange Crush.
So I started wondering about these dogs. They don´t look starved and they seem to have several partial owners - street vendors, workers who pass them every day on the way to work, and school children, who the dogs seem to especially like for the crumbs in their pockets. They obviously aren´t treated the way dogs are treated in the US. Dogs there are babies, children, members of the family. With their own rooms, down comforters, eating lounges, scheduled hair cuts and manicures, and several doctors visits yearly). Dogs here are free to be dogs. But with freedom comes danger, and these dogs face danger every day in the form of cars, other less friendly dogs, people who are anti-dog, just to name a few.
In my two days in Santiago I passed one dog in particular who, although sleeping, managed to dive into my chest and rip out my heart. He was small, a cattle dog-lab mix perhaps, he had short fur unlike most other dogs, and he always seemed to sleep peacefully next to this one street vendor who sold papers, magazines, and snacks. As I looked closer I noticed a huge gash on the inside of his left leg - red, gaping, and very infected. I wanted to lure him to a vet, or run back to my first aid kit and treat it with neosporin and gauze, or pay the vendor to take him in, but I didn´t do it. Not even after watching him hobble on three legs around the nearby courtyard as school children giggled past carrying their lunches, hoping for a scrap.
I need to do something for these dogs. I´m not sure what it is yet, but I´ll think of something. And when I do, I´ll let you know.
lluvia, lluvia, sale, se vuelve por favor otro día
Rain, Rain, go away, please come back another day.
The bus ride south has been muy interesante. The best part so far is that I learned how to ask for more toilet paper - mas confor (it´s the brand name of the toilet paper they use) and that in Chilean spanish, you take the s off pretty much every word - por ejemplo Gracia, not Gracias.
You know something´s up when learning how to say toilet paper in spanish is your favorite part of the trip. On our first stop, to the rapel dam, the water wasn´t flowing so it just looked like a big ditch. Then, on our drive to Puntos De Lobos (surf capital of Chile) it was so foggy you couldn´t see anything. Yesterday, on our 10 hour drive south to Pucon, we got lost on the way to Santa Cruz, and once there, got turned around by an accident in which three people were killed by a chemical truck.
And so today, I continue my streak de buena suerte with rain. Rain anticipated for the rest of the week. After I´ve booked my 110 US dollar hike up the volcano. I was quite looking forward to that - to using crampons and ice axes, and skiing down with austrians and canadians! It´s just rain people! I climb mountains in the rain!
Pucon means entrance to the mountains in Quechua, which less than 5,000 people still speak. Above is a picture (No, I didn´t take it). So far I only take pictures of dogs. More on dogs in a bit...
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Empanadas, Dulce de Leche and Internet
All I can find to eat around here are empanadas and dulce de leche cakes, pies, cookies, etc. But there´s a computer with internet at every street corner and most definitely in every hostal.
It´s great because I can catalogue all that has happened, but it´s hard because most of the time the keyboards are so old and overused that I have to strike the space bar ten times for it to actually impart a space on the screen. And instead of a dash I get an Ñ.
So pardon the misspellings and lack of commas.
And when I return, pardone the 10 pounds I gain from a strict diet of carbs.
Well, we made it to the surf town of Pichilemu. Nothing much here but this hostal, a panaderia (yeah, mas dulce de leche), a bunch of stray dogs, and beach, so I´m going for a run on the beach.
It´s great because I can catalogue all that has happened, but it´s hard because most of the time the keyboards are so old and overused that I have to strike the space bar ten times for it to actually impart a space on the screen. And instead of a dash I get an Ñ.
So pardon the misspellings and lack of commas.
And when I return, pardone the 10 pounds I gain from a strict diet of carbs.
Well, we made it to the surf town of Pichilemu. Nothing much here but this hostal, a panaderia (yeah, mas dulce de leche), a bunch of stray dogs, and beach, so I´m going for a run on the beach.
Walker, Florida Traveler
10-29
415PM
I couldn´t sleep last night, dreaming about the pending adventures. Visions of a bus full of young and adventurous travelers.
At 9 a.m., Beotcha (pronounced b. archer, of Cologne, Germany) was the only other person on the bus. She, like several other 40ish women I´d encountered was taking a year off to travel around the world. ¨We´re picking up one other person in Bellavista, that´s it until Puerto Montt¨ our guide Nicole informed us.
We pulled up to a hostal, both of us eager to meet our final compadre, when a man in his 60´s, wearing bright orange, sauntered onto the bus. He introduced himself as Walker, from St. Augustine FL.
While the german was a little harder to get to know, I learned a lot about Walker. He sold his hotels to Extended Stay America and retired somewhat unexpectedly at 45. ¨Everything happened at once. I sold the company,got divorced and my kids graduated from school.¨ I was going to sail around the world, but then I took a class and realized it was too damn difficult, too many unknowns to contend with. So I took up traveling around the world by bus, air and foot.¨
Walker lamented how he too was the only American in his hostal, ¨Americans don´t travel like they used to. They just want to make money.¨
Walker has been to Spain, Thailand, New Zealand, Egypt and now Chile, in the span one year. He says he never plans his trips, just books the ticket and goes. He leaned in toward me, his ivory necklace emerging from his neon orange shirt, ¨I saw your pack. You´will learn in about a week that you don´t need all that stuff.¨
415PM
I couldn´t sleep last night, dreaming about the pending adventures. Visions of a bus full of young and adventurous travelers.
At 9 a.m., Beotcha (pronounced b. archer, of Cologne, Germany) was the only other person on the bus. She, like several other 40ish women I´d encountered was taking a year off to travel around the world. ¨We´re picking up one other person in Bellavista, that´s it until Puerto Montt¨ our guide Nicole informed us.
We pulled up to a hostal, both of us eager to meet our final compadre, when a man in his 60´s, wearing bright orange, sauntered onto the bus. He introduced himself as Walker, from St. Augustine FL.
While the german was a little harder to get to know, I learned a lot about Walker. He sold his hotels to Extended Stay America and retired somewhat unexpectedly at 45. ¨Everything happened at once. I sold the company,got divorced and my kids graduated from school.¨ I was going to sail around the world, but then I took a class and realized it was too damn difficult, too many unknowns to contend with. So I took up traveling around the world by bus, air and foot.¨
Walker lamented how he too was the only American in his hostal, ¨Americans don´t travel like they used to. They just want to make money.¨
Walker has been to Spain, Thailand, New Zealand, Egypt and now Chile, in the span one year. He says he never plans his trips, just books the ticket and goes. He leaned in toward me, his ivory necklace emerging from his neon orange shirt, ¨I saw your pack. You´will learn in about a week that you don´t need all that stuff.¨
Tagging Pumas
10/29
8:15AM
I got an email yesterday from Mark, one of the lead volunteers down at the Park (Conservacion Patagonica). He thought I was still in the USA and wondered if I could bring him back a few supplies (totaling around 20 pounds):
-2 puma collars
-battery packs
-tree climbing spurs
-GPS Unit
PUMA COLLARS? PUMA COLLARS? PUMA COLLARS?
Off I go.
8:15AM
I got an email yesterday from Mark, one of the lead volunteers down at the Park (Conservacion Patagonica). He thought I was still in the USA and wondered if I could bring him back a few supplies (totaling around 20 pounds):
-2 puma collars
-battery packs
-tree climbing spurs
-GPS Unit
PUMA COLLARS? PUMA COLLARS? PUMA COLLARS?
Off I go.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Get on the bus
10/28
8PM
Pachamama meant earth goddess to the incas of ancient peru. It's the name of the bus I'll be taking south for the next 5 days. I'm not sure I'll have internet, so here's a rough itinerary of where I'll be:
10/29 - Santiago to Pichilemu (*220 km). Then to punta de lobos where the best surfing on the chilean coast is. For 16 US I can take a surfing lesson, but I think I'll go horseback riding instead.
10/30 and 10/31 - 707 km to Pucon and Villarica Volcano. I might go mountain biking!
11/01 - Valdivia. On the ocean. Beaches. Enough said.
11/02 - 210 km to Puerto Montt and Puerto Varas - per the advice of prade, I'm going to stay in Puerto Varas, and aim to catch a bus or ferry toward Coyhaique on 11/04 (wed).
The pachamama thing is so well organized all the hostals are already picked for you and food is supplied along the way. Happy Mom?
Still have a raging headache, off to retrieve some advil.
Chao for now!
8PM
Pachamama meant earth goddess to the incas of ancient peru. It's the name of the bus I'll be taking south for the next 5 days. I'm not sure I'll have internet, so here's a rough itinerary of where I'll be:
10/29 - Santiago to Pichilemu (*220 km). Then to punta de lobos where the best surfing on the chilean coast is. For 16 US I can take a surfing lesson, but I think I'll go horseback riding instead.
10/30 and 10/31 - 707 km to Pucon and Villarica Volcano. I might go mountain biking!
11/01 - Valdivia. On the ocean. Beaches. Enough said.
11/02 - 210 km to Puerto Montt and Puerto Varas - per the advice of prade, I'm going to stay in Puerto Varas, and aim to catch a bus or ferry toward Coyhaique on 11/04 (wed).
The pachamama thing is so well organized all the hostals are already picked for you and food is supplied along the way. Happy Mom?
Still have a raging headache, off to retrieve some advil.
Chao for now!
I smell
Amidst a sea of boys watching monkeys at the zoo, i was sure it was them (monkeys or boys all the same) but it was me! I smell! Like a teenage boy after gym class, wearing too many layers! Smelling like this just means I finally made it. I'm here. Wearing the same clothes on day 3 and happy as can be.
Bellavista! Zoologica! Museo!
The day started with a hot shower and a change of underwear (yeah!). The little pleasures in life...
Carla shared her breakfast of oats, yogurt and banana with me and then we headed to the museum of pre-columbian art. We at lunch at trendy Golindo and even ordered wine "We're on holiday so it's okay" Carla reassured me.
We took the funicular San Cristobal, built in 1922, up the 240 meters to a terrace with wonderful views of the city (albeit quite smoggy). On the way down, we visited the zoo.
It's hot in Santiago. And today was the first day i went without coffee. Driven by a raging headache I headed back to Barrio Brasil for a cafe con leche. Out came a glass of warm milk and the waiter and I did sign language until I discovered I was to add spoonfuls of cafe to the leche until the desired strength was reached. It sucked, so I chugged it and headed somewhere else for another one.
El Cafe got it right with a wonderful Cafe de Baileys. Headache is still raging but at least I've got a buzz now ;)
Carla shared her breakfast of oats, yogurt and banana with me and then we headed to the museum of pre-columbian art. We at lunch at trendy Golindo and even ordered wine "We're on holiday so it's okay" Carla reassured me.
We took the funicular San Cristobal, built in 1922, up the 240 meters to a terrace with wonderful views of the city (albeit quite smoggy). On the way down, we visited the zoo.
It's hot in Santiago. And today was the first day i went without coffee. Driven by a raging headache I headed back to Barrio Brasil for a cafe con leche. Out came a glass of warm milk and the waiter and I did sign language until I discovered I was to add spoonfuls of cafe to the leche until the desired strength was reached. It sucked, so I chugged it and headed somewhere else for another one.
El Cafe got it right with a wonderful Cafe de Baileys. Headache is still raging but at least I've got a buzz now ;)
No Americans in Chile
My bunk mates are mates indeed; mostly from Australia. The others are from Holland, England or New Zealand, but I have yet to meet a fellow American. For some reason this seems odd to me.
After a dinner of gnocchi and vino tinto at Sole Mio, I headed back to the hostal, where Carla the 21 year old Hawk's Bay New Zealander sat in our room. "What are you up to tonight" she asked as I reached into a bag and pulled out a box of wine (yeah I said box - it's chile!). "Care to join me?" She replied: "Sure, but i'm buying tomorrow night."
I learned that Carla spent 2 months in Peru and Chile, volunteering in a small Peruvian village with special needs kids and living with a host family. As an art major, she is going to continue her studies when she gets home.
We got along well and decided to spend tomorrow touring the city.
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After a dinner of gnocchi and vino tinto at Sole Mio, I headed back to the hostal, where Carla the 21 year old Hawk's Bay New Zealander sat in our room. "What are you up to tonight" she asked as I reached into a bag and pulled out a box of wine (yeah I said box - it's chile!). "Care to join me?" She replied: "Sure, but i'm buying tomorrow night."
I learned that Carla spent 2 months in Peru and Chile, volunteering in a small Peruvian village with special needs kids and living with a host family. As an art major, she is going to continue her studies when she gets home.
We got along well and decided to spend tomorrow touring the city.
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