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!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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.
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