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.
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