Tag Archives: Travel

My ‘Q’ (Part III of III)

3 May
We got up the next morning and knew this was the penultimate day, and while it was a crappy night with rain coming in through Pippa’s tent (thanks North Face!) and as a result all our stuff was soaked, we headed up in pretty high spirits knowing it was almost over.
We knew once we got through the ladders, we were not too far from Campamento Grey, so that was the carrot that kept us going (I think Dan, our unofficial team leader, learned the hard way that Pippa and I responded far better to carrot approaches than sticks!).
Having enjoyed the beauty of the Circuit, especially this back part, especially that the landscape and terrain were so diverse, meaning  each day had something new and interesting to walk through, to look at. 
The first ladder had been challenging with a 12k pack on, but again not that much of a big deal and scarier in our minds than in reality. But the second ladder was a somewhat different story.
As we approached, all very excited as it meant approaching the final stage, and we now knew what to expect, everyone felt a new burst of energy, but as we rounded the corner to the second ladder down, we saw the Brooklyn couple (who’d set off a fair bit earlier than us) and suddenly realised things were not that straightforward.
The girl (whose name is escaping me right now), who we’d seen practically blossom on a daily basis, having come away with zero trekking experience and be thrown by her boyfriend Dan into one of the most famed hikes in Patagonia, whenever we had a bit of a tough time, we kept saying we wondered how she was coping, and making jokes about how many make-up points she’d accumulated since heading off. “That’s one bigass piece of jewellery he owes her now…” etc) shouted back to us: “We have a big problem..”
“What’s up?” Pippa asked.
We all rounded towards the head of the ladder and looked down at the ravine, 15m or so beneath us. 
We gazed across and saw a group of others (Swedish? German?) looking anxiously over at us from the opposite side.
“We can’t get across. The rain in the night caused a landslide, and the ground isn’t stable. The Russian and English guy from this morning tried getting over. The Russian guy made it, but the English guy didn’t. He’s hurt, quite badly, we think…”
Sh1t. We panicked, where is he? Is he okay? What can we do? 
Pippa and Dan, being doctors, Bryan being of a naval search & rescue heli team and Brooklyn Dan being a paramedic suddenly formed this Lost-style cast of potential helpers and sprung into action. This is my belated contribution.
Realising he would be cold, hungry, scared, in shock and probably in a lot of pain, we tried shouting down to keep him comforted (as much as possible) and chucked some spare food at him, but he seemed pretty sensible and was keeping warm in his sleeping bag, but his arm was quite hurt.
Now, all this was found out afterwards, so apologies for the timeline of my account, but it seems as they crossed the ravine, as Matt followed Dimitri up the incline, having crossed, the ground collapsed under him, throwing Matt back into the water. Boulders and rocks then were falling alongside him, as he had to shield his head from the rocks – some of which were bigger than footballs. if he’d not done so, I don’t think this blog would take the tone it has, and his amazing cycling trip around the world to raise money for War Child would have been very sadly cut short. More on that later…
So, Dimitri ran off to get help. We kept Matt talking every 20 minutes or so, ensuring he kept consciousness, and eventually, an hour or two later, some guards arrived on the other side of the water. 
Again, putting this in context, if it had been decided that we were unable to cross, it would have meant turning around and heading back to the previous well-equipped campsite, which was Dickson – three campsites ago. That would have meant crossing John Gardner’s Pass AGAIN, all with limited food, limited fuel, very cold, wet and tired. It was simply not an option, but one we were dreading, having come so far.
Given this was Chilean Patagonia, and resources were somewhat inferior to those of the US Navy (I’m assuming), any of Bryan’s helicopter S&R experience would not be happening. We had to cross that ravine. 
Looking to the guys coming down to assess the situation, we could see that the ground had fallen away, undercutting the path they were standing on. We could only assume that our side looked in the same state, and therefore any movement was risky and any consequences uncertain.
Our hero (Miguel?) bounced down the ravine, crossed the water, unaided, to check things out. He established that Matt was stable, and that we six also needed to get across. 
In this time, new people had arrived on the opposite ledge. 
As he went back up, radioing in to someone, the Russian arrived back, along with another guy, who looked very agile, with blond hair, glasses, and a wiry frame, suggesting he was a climber of some sort and filled us with confidence. He ran down that hill testing out the route they were going to take to get us all back up the other side.
Ropes were thrown down, and any newfound confidence evaporated immediately…. 
“Those ropes are not long enough. And they don’t really look like they really know what to do with them…”
Miguel (let’s go with that for now) directed us all how to get down the ladder, one at a time. Our packs were laid gently to the floor and would be following us up afterwards. As we crossed the riverbed, with him shouting at us (pigeon-Spanish-meets-pigeon-Mime with one or two English sounds, in crisis situation, simply adds to the nervousness, by the way) to follow precisely in his footsteps if we were to make it safely across.
As we stepped onto the boulders, some of them were loose. The solution? Kick them away, don’t try and protect them from falling. Some of these boulders were HUGE and seeing them drop away, the impact when they bounced around the ravine on the way down, causing other, smaller rocks to follow suit, was an unspoken reminder of what would happen if we got our footing wrong, had misjudged the ground, or indeed what might have happened to Matt if things had taken a turn for the worse. It was scary but there was not really any time to be scared or to not trust these people, who had our safety in their hands.
A rapid lesson in reverse abseiling later, on unstable ground, with a mere rope around our waists, we all made it up safely and soundly, many thanks indeed to the TdP crew. 
Hot tea and first aid was waiting for Matt, who was lucky enough to escape with a few cuts, bruises, scrapes and knocks to his arms and leg, a few knocks to his head, some torn clothing and one helluva a story to tell in his own blog, TheCycleDiaries, which is documenting his 25,000+ mile, 35 country RTW cycling tour in support of War Child.
http://www.justgiving.com/thecyclediaries if anyone wants to donate to his cause.
Arriving at Grey soundly, the boys had gone off to the Mirador to look at the glacier and ice field from a better angle. Pippa and I just wanted some comfort and headed straight back to camp, we considered even staying in the hostel as a reward to ourselves, but decided money would be better spent elsewhere and opted for a beer and a packet of M&Ms instead, before even pitching our tent.
We had survived, with only one night left! WE LEAVE TOMORROW! 
After a stunning walk to come face to face with glacier Grey and its resultant icebergs in a tiny lake outside the campsite, we had an emotional, fun, celebratory dinner of shared resources (Matt & Dimitri had fallen short of food by this point) and the best tasting rice and pasta dishes (using my aforementioned ‘appropriated’ chorizo!), accompanied by some cheap, boxed, overpriced wine. And well deserved at that.
So, this was our final morning, bound once more for Paine Grande, to catch the 12.30 catamaran that took us back home. 
Up before dawn, spurring each other with murmurs of very tired encouragement, we were due to be setting off around 7, in order to be there well in time for the cat. It was set to be around a 4 hour walk, but we’d heard some bright young things the night before saying they’d done it in just over 3. 
Either way, it was dark and we were tired, but keen to just get it over with.
As we were finishing breakfast, all thinking how dark it was outside, we then remembered something about daylight savings time, that fell somewhere around the 1st April. We were a few days after that, but apparently being out on the trail for as long as we had, time had kind of become irrelevant to anything other than our own frames of reference – ie time between camps, between rests, sunrises and sunsets. Basically, we were up an hour earlier than we needed to be, but we set off anyway, dark, cold and very, very rainy.
This was the hardest morning, for me anyway. It simply wasn’t fun anymore, and I just wanted it over with. Don’t get me wrong, it was still beautiful, very eerie actually, with the glacier in first light, the lake taking on a grey hue with only the odd very turquoise iceberg to see, and the forest bathed in grey as well. But my fingers were frozen to the point of pain in their wet-through gloves, my shoulders were starting to ache like hell, I was sick of carrying my backpack, and sick of not sleeping. The torrential rain didn’t help, especially as, following Rusty’s advice of not wearing waterproofs during the day, I’d worn my jacket but didn’t bother with the trousers, so my legs were soaked and freezing. I was losing my sense of humour, and was beyond taking pictures as my camera would have just got wet anyway. Luckily, I have realised that I have an immense capacity for holding back energy for when it is really required, and my spare tank was full. As pacemaker (and I apologise to Dan, Pippa and Bryan once again for my lack of conversation and nutty speed going down, but I still think it was the better option!) I pretty much steamed back to camp as quickly as possible, and once I also needed the loo, the stops became pretty non-existent (too wet and cold to enjoy the views) and it was a race to get back as soon as possible.
Eventually, the rain eased, the sun started to shine a little bit, we realised it had snowed since we were last in this section of the park, which made for some really beautiful mountains, and we saw the shimmering turquoise of Lago Pehoe at the site of Camp Paine Grande, our beacon of warmth, calm, civilisation, the pickup point for the catamaran and the end of our Q. 
“Baptism of fire, Patagonia style” – Rustyn Mesdag, Erratic RockImageImageImage.

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My ‘Q’ (Part II)

2 May

And it´s now the real fun starts, apparently!

This is where the campsites tend to start running into one another, and I´m not going to feel bad any more about wondering which bit was Torres, and which bit was Dickson, and whether Perros came before Paso or not. Because a) barely any of you reading this will either notice or care, and b) because it doesn´t really matter!
The point is, that we trekked on, and on, and on, and on, and ON and it was getting harder, I was getting rattier (I realised my very strong necessity for my basic needs being met. Something my darling Omar and I have discussed many a time) as I noted the annoyance of my metabolism and the efficiency of my bladder, and basically it was yes, lovely, but also fecking annoying. This was the long day, the annoying day, and the day that you tended to wonder why you were getting rattier rather than loving it as you felt you should, and of course, it was ´cause you had been up since 4.30am! Sorry for that stream of consciousness.
Now, not all is bad. We are half way through. This is both good for morale, and you´ve seen some pretty awesome stuff, and your ego is being appeased by the fact that you´re doing longer/better/faster than the ´competitive´ Australians, the group of ill-suited girls and the (probably Scandinavian) Hot Couple.
By this point is it well evidenced that I am the metaphorical lovechild of Dan and Pippa´s personalities. Pippa and I are both equally non-competitive, and modest, and very giving yet extremely competitive when it came to other girls who weren´t either of us. Go figure.
While Pippa is possibly one of the nicest (yet cool and nice, not nice and nice) people I´ve ever met,  Dan and I were both acerbic, direct, and judgmental. Whilst trying to still feign niceness.
Sorry, yet another digression there….
So we were en route, and going at a decent pace, Bryan in tow by this point, and we hit the first real evidence of The Patagonian Winds. We were sideways up a mountain, the wind was going schiz, still looking at the (now unknown) Lago next to us, and forcing ourselves into the hillside in order to not be blown off. We were heading for Serron (I think), and also, on this day, met The American Couple (later known as The Annoying American Couple in order to differentiate, before the other ones became known as either the Nice American Couple, or simply, Brooklyn), and made some pretty decent time in our hiking.
We began becoming very excited about our markers (this section was split, nicely, into quarters, with a clear wooden sign at each sub-point, and the time taken between markers meant we were either jumping for joy and high fiving or downbeat and evermore geared up for the next stage) and arrived at camp happy and morale high. We stayed the night there, Dan very kindly lent lent me his very warm coat to sleep in, the mozzies were going bananas, but we had our appropriated brownies to make us happy, and various folk, by this point Had To Dig. We were all very cozy by now, it would seem….
Chris (Keanu Reeves, not been mentioned for a while), saw a puma about 10ft away as his was trews-round-ankles at 7am, and I´d acquired the World´s Worst Farts, through not being able to Dig for the last few days… (Sorry, again, with the coziness…)
We hit the next campsite, Dickson, in record time. So much so, that Ajay (remember him?) made it clear he was impressed, but rather than making a complimentary observation, it came across as though he was either somehow annoyed or shocked that we had done okay. This came off the back of his earlier comment, upon hearing that Dan´s tummy was feeling a bit off, and therefore we might slow down that previous morning (´´Oh, I didn´t think it would be YOU that might have not coped and been ill? I assumed as much of one of the girls, you know, complaining they needed their chocolate fix, or something…?´´)
Dickson was a turning point for us all. Morale became HIGH.
We had not only kicked arse on our timings, our packs (yes, as Rusty had predicted) were lighter and therefore less of an issue, we were all feeling positive about the fact we´d already done an amazing thing, and therefore this was all now ´bonus´ time, and we hit the camp JUST as the first real daytime rain was coming in. We knew how lucky we had been, and were not expecting it could continue. 
Dickson was a great campsite. Great. Andy, the guy who managed it, was lovely. Not quite as lovely as I think Pippa hoped I would think he was (!) but very sweet. He and his cronies soon helped us make a very easy decision as to whether to just have a hot chocolate or to splash out our one paid-for meal in their place as opposed to the last site.
I think it was the warm, comfortable setting, the wood surrounds, the showers, and general pride in what we had achieved so far that made us feel we deserved it. That, and the hand-rolled pastry we saw being made before us combined with delicious smells coming from the kitchen.
The fittest mussel and pea salad, vegetable soup and steak and vegetable pie, followed by a serving of fruit salad (a la Del Monte) felt like our Last Supper, it was that emotional and appreciated.
Sadly, after a week of very bland, predictable foods, this is where my digestive system started playing pranks on me, the swine…
Just as I’d dropped my guts inside the very small log cabin really badly and was saying to Dan (who was about to call over Andy the refugio host) ‘don’t get him over YET…’ he did exactly that. Poor Andy, but Dan and Pippa thought it was hilarious. As did I, eventually. This sadly was not a shortlived problem. We decided as a rule on the trek that ‘if you need to fart, you walk to the back of the group’. It worked, for the most part, and we even had Bryan relaxing into our toilet talk after a few days, after his first reaction to Pippa’s sprinting off to ‘dig’, shouting “sorry I can’t talk to you, I really need the toilet” was a simple, horrified-looking “you really didn’t need to share that!” As neither did I with you now, but bowel movement and digestion have been major conversation topics for the last few months, so consider yourselves involved.
We made our way to Campamento Perros, which Alejandro, one of Andy’s mates ran. We asked him how long it took him to get from one site to the other. “About two hours”. It was marked as due to take us between four and 4.5. It had been a relatively relaxed walk though, relatively speaking.
As we arrived, Alejandro had clearly been sitting there chilling for a while, grinning at us in his Benicio Del Toro kind of way. We quickly pitched our tents, hung up our food in the trees (lesson learned!) and headed down to the riverbed to have our tea and biscuits. Ajay may have actually partaken as well at this point. We had converted him! It soon became pretty freezing, so we ate our pasta pretty swiftly and headed back up to the camp. 
Alejandro was showing off his circus skills to some of the others, his tightrope act between two trees pretty well perfected. Sadly his encouragement wasn’t enough to have any of us manage more than even one step. I could stand still for a microsecond, but that was about it. So bedtime it was, all of us a little nervous about waking to the day of The Pass the next morning.
Paso John Gardner is the highest point of the circuit, which overlooks the top of Glacier Grey, which adjoins to the Patagonian ice field – the second largest in the world after Antarctica. Having been to the glacier Perito Moreno (mentioned in previous blog), how it was described by Rustyn was that if Perito Moreno was one of his fingers (and it looked pretty huge), then this ice field was his entire arm. That is what we were in for. 
However, in order to enjoy such a ridiculously beautiful sight, you have to earn it. And earning it, in this case, was getting over JGP. 
Now the trekking is not particularly arduous, compared to what we had already done, but my God, if we’d been very lucky thus far with the weather, and some members of the group starting to question what all the fuss was about with these infamous Patagonian winds, this was the day to prove itself to us all. 
We headed off as the four we usually were, assuming Chris and Ajay had done their usual earlier start, but Chris was still in his tent as we leaf the camp, so we assumed they were having a relaxed start to the day. About an hour or so in, crossing many a muddy log bridge, forested hill or whatnot, he caught us, sans Ajay. “I shouted him, he grunted and didn’t answer.”
We’d passed The Competitive Americans once or twice, with them clearly having pep talked into needing to up their pace today, all of a sudden very conscious that we might overtake them (ridiculous), and we’d not seen the nice Brooklyn couple since breakfast.
Anyway, was trekked with Chris for a while, and as the winds were picking up, we all became suddenly far more sympathetic towards Ajay, worried about whether he’d be okay on his own.
These winds were howling, and the speed was picking up as the temperature was dropping with each metre of raised altitude. 
The views were spectacular, as the autumn changes were taking place across the entire forest, now visible behind us for a lot further than we’d seen previously.
As we got higher, and the orange path markers got simultaneously harder to spot and more appreciated, the winds’ ferocity grew. I gave up on trying to get my camera out, and the poles were now not welcomed, but essential in order to stay upright. Rusty’s warnings over the wind and how it hit you were loud and clear in our heads, and we then began recognising the sound of those winds coming in from afar, and as Chris put it: “When you hear that wind approaching, you just get DOWN”, and the naturally safest position was anything with a lower centre of gravity, so it was poles in hard, bent over at waist, knees bent, and brace. Until it passed such that you could stand up and power on again. You got so that you were walking into the incline, fearful you might fall over backwards otherwise, and tumble down the hill if you got taken out by the wind. We all knew we were at a point in the circuit that we all had been looking forward to and fearing at the same time. It was laughable, and we all went to that slightly crazy place as each wind gust hit us. It was each to their own as we tried staying vertical, clambering up the hill. At one stage, Bryan needed to just get ahead. Pippa and Chris were behind me, and Dan was straight ahead. The plains are pretty open, so your only shelter is any rock you might see that is big enough to shield you. There were a couple, and they were pretty spaced out. At one stage I forced myself forward, laughing like a madwoman, whilst terrified I might lose my footing. The shards of gravel were spearing you in the face, and the winds were probably about 100kph. Dan shouts down “Are you okay?” just as a gust took me out, luckily, just in front of a huge boulder that was sitting to my rear. My legs went out and I instinctively put my arms out to protect myself, cheek and forearm making contact with the rock at full speed and having to grip the edge of it with my fingertips, but thank God! If that rock hadn’t been there, I think I’d have been down and seriously injured.
Laughing at the fact I wasn’t dead, shouted back to Dan, “That rock just saved my life!”
A few photos of those falling, suspended, into the wind shots, us screaming with how mad it was, overjoyed with having made it and then looking up and ahead and seeing the backdrop of the top view of Glacier Grey, was about as good as it gets.
We began the procession downwards, with the boys going all primal and Pippa and I just wanting to get down a level or two as quickly as possible to regain feeling in our hands (having bloody Raynaud’s phenomenon has been a killer on this trip!), and we knew we had overcome the hardest part, but still had a few major milestones to go. The steps (a series of downhill stairs that go on for over an hour – great for the knees) and tomorrow the ladders (a pair of 15m high aluminium ladders that you have to descend, cross a ravine, and then up the other side before you can carry on the final stage to Grey, our last campsite and the golden chalice we’d all been waiting for. 
We toyed with the idea of going straight through, as we hit Campamento Paso, as this was one option in order to reduce our 10 day trek to 9. Frankly, I was over it all, and losing morale frequently, and just wanted to get it over with.
Pippa was equally fed up. We talked about it, and Dan, the voice of reason, was showing us both sides of pros and cons (we’ve come all this way, do we want to rush through and only get to the nicest campsite in the dark when you can’t enjoy it, and have to trek all that way again on our sore, tired feet, etc). Chris wanted to power on, while Bryan was pretty clear he wanted to camp and enjoy the final day on a decent night’s sleep. It was opened to debate, but one look at Pippa’s feet made our decision for us. The poor girl had just hiked about 8km, up and down hills, with a full pack on, and her 6’1″ beautiful frame had been carrying all that on feet covered in about 30 blisters. There were blisters upon blisters. It made me want to cry just looking at them, and I still to this day have no idea how she managed it. Heroine. And I know she was gutted as in her heart, mind and the rest of her body she was keen to crack on, but her sorry feet held her back. So, we decided to call it a day and stop at the campsite which overlooked the glacier (amazing), with a full, clear, end to end rainbow in the backdrop (couldn’t have made it up), and our own private stream. 
Sadly, this day, the first we arrived at camp when it was actually daylight and we could have chilled out, was the day it decided to start raining, and not stop for several hours.
We were holed up in the shelter, chatting to our new friends from Brooklyn, and saying hello to two newbies who’d come from the other direction, Matt from England, and Dimitri from Russia, unbeknownst at this point that adversity would cement these new friendshipsImageImageImage…

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Vices, mice(s), and social devices: Part III

11 Apr

Following the ER talk, Pippa, Dan and I made our new lists (taking into account all our new information) ran around town doing full cost/value/quality recces, before getting sorted with all our gear (yes, I still love buying kit as much as, if not more than, I did at home), made our food shopping list, withdrew money etc.

Had a lovely surprise by bumping, randomly, into Johannes, a German guy I’d met briefly in BA (the first time) who was motorcycling his way around the continent.

Had an amazing dinner at Afrigonia, and then back to the hostel to start packing. At 3am we were finally ready for bed!

I’ve been toying with whether or not to talk through the Q in a day-by-day fashion.

But I think for now, what I will say is that if you fancy a holiday that will challenge you in ways you have never imagined; that will make you feel scared, mighty, insecure, invincible, bold, brave, hungry, thirsty, filthy, desperate, awesome, strong and pathetic; if you want to taste fear, sadness, elation, fatigue and relief; to suffer blisters, cold, sweat, discomfort; to experience a weird pleasure/pain of muscles and of mind; to lose all dignity through peeing on yourself, in the wind, sh1tting in the bushes, nearly crying with shoulder cramps, or general misery, all alongside people you’ve known for less than a week; but at every point have your breath literally taken away with the sights you will witness, the natural colours you will enjoy, the sounds of the genuinely great outdoors and not want to change any of it for a second… then get yourself down to Parque Nacional Torres Del Paine.

And just watch out for the mice.

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Mi familia nueva

10 Apr

Approaching the bus in El Bolson, bound for El Chalten, I was hit by a sudden loss of confidence that I was unsure where the bus would be picking me up from. To the point that the landlord and my new mate walked me to the right spot. It was around the corner. Slightly jaded by this, and simultaneously looking forward and nervous about what lay ahead (was I doing the right thing going to Patagonia by myself and so late in the season?) I waited for the bus. Also waiting for the bus was a Malaysian couple (turned out they were cousins. Not a couple who were cousins, that would be a whole other blog, but just cousins), a young German kid and myself. A few moments before we embarked on our 24-hour bus ride, a beautiful, bearded, wild-haired, smiling, charango-wielding Italiano rocked up.

And thank God he did.

Some people in life are social glue. I have had my moments of playing that role, in certain circumstances (thanks Omar!). Axel Beland was a prime example of this during my time on the Inca Trail (thanks Axel!). Mattia was such a person.

I had already reserved a spot at a hostel, seemingly a good one, in the sleepy town of Elo Chalten. I was unsure of how to go about organising my hikes, but figured as they were primarily day hikes I was okay to set off alone and kind of wing it.

Pretty much the sole passengers on the entire bus, during the course of the next 24 hours, the five of us got to know each other far more than you would (or I would) normally bother with my fellow bus passengers.

Shied by my poor grasp of Spanish alongside Lukas, a 19-year-old social idealist from Munich and Mattia, a 36-year-old sound engineer from Bergamo, both of whom had been learning the lingo for only four months, versus my ‘on and off for years’ less committed efforts, I took a back seat.

By the time we got to El Chalten, they`d persuaded me top sack off my 10% deposit (about four quid) and find a cheaper, closer hostel with them, to continue our journey ‘as a family’.

We did, made a swift trip to the supermarket, made a group dinner, and set about planning our hikes.

I’d been recommended the Paseo de Viento by my Bariloche Israelis and independently another guy in the hostel was talking up the same trek. But it was 4-5 days and I was only planning on being there for 3. And it appeared to require some guidance, or certainly glacier experience.

We decided to ease ourselves in gently, hired some kit and set off south of the town, towards the miradores Condor and Eagle, but added a bit more on, trekking up through a woodlands and over to the plains that overlooked the foot of the mountain range. The exact name escapes me right now. I`ve probably taken a photo of the sign, as has become standard, given my inability to retain information anymore for periods of longer than half an hour.

As we neared the top of the climb (not really a climb, more an uphill walk), an English guy from Essex was coming the opposite way, fully kitted out in thermals, Gore-tex-tastic and waterproofs.

“How was it?” we asked.

“Hard. Really challenging, and you can’t really see much, given the winds. You can’t open your eyes for very long, and it’s so cloudy, but it`s amazing. And that’s why we`re all here, surely? For the challenge?”

One member of our group, and the other female amongst us, who’d already defying the woman in the kit hire shop when she recommended trekking poles (“Really? I just don’t believe that they winds could be that bad. She’s probably just saying that to get me to hire the poles.”

Me: “So don`t get them then.”

Her: “Are you getting them?”

Me: “Yes.”

Her: “Really? But will they really help?”

Me: “Yes. 100% without question. That`s why I`m hiring them.”

… you can likely sense I was less than sympathetic at this point. I`ll move on…)

decided that he too, was talking sh1t, and had obviously decked himself out in all that gear for fun.

Some of us got our waterproofs on. Thank you Kathmandu. Some of us put extra hats and gloves on, steeling ourselves for the first example of brutal Patagonian weather.

Others complained they had only come out in trainers, didn’t bring gloves because they didn’t think they’d need them, but were sure they’d be fine.

As we rounded the corner, we were faced with upwards of 70, 80+kph winds. Maybe more, I`ve not got a clue. They were sideways. And fierce. And you couldn’t see sh1t because it was too hard to open your eyes. And you were hungry because you¡’d been trekking for two hours uphill but couldn’t brave getting out your chocolate because it might blow away and litter is (rightly) a heinous crime. But you had to keep going to the top.

I`ve got to be honest, I’m not really sure what we were even supposed to be looking at “at the top”, or indeed where the top was. According to Essex, there was a lake at the foot of the mirador, and if you tried really hard, you could see the snow-draped S-shape of the Cerro Solo.

Either way, Mattia and the boys ran off in different directions screaming and howling like banshees. I was trying to stay upright, reminded of Wuthering Heights, weirdly. After five or 10 minutes, I was done. Something about being whipped, literally and metaphorically, by the elements was very good for the soul, I felt.

We returned to town eventually, recovered and reliving the day, and with a much clearer idea of exactly what to expect in the days to come.

Dinner that night, with the intention of setting off much earlier (lesson learned: you will NEVER get off at your intended time with a group of five people. Not worth stressing about, just accept it) the next morning, I was getting to know my new `familia`much better.

Mattia and I, sadly, realised that we were, technically, old enough to be Lukas’ parents. Jaz was the crazy cool cousin and Lina was the ‘abuela’. She was feeling ill and infirm and, though younger than me, fell into that role pretty naturally.

It was interesting being in a social situation and feeling really left out. Without wanting to blow smoke up my own ar5e, that rarely happens.  And I`m not getting the violin out, it was my own fault. I could have made more effort to speak Spanish. I did think it was rather odd that as Malaysian, German and Italian natives, all of whom spoke perfect English, and knowing my Spanish was rusty to their near-fluent, and that Lina spoke no Spanish, they opted to speak in Spanish.

So maybe I took it a bit personally. Or maybe I was just feeling a bit like having some quiet time and this gave me a perfect opportunity to do so, but either way, the next few days involved the fewest words I’d ever spoken when amongst a group of individuals. It made a nice change.

In terms of hiking, we set off for the Laguna de los Tres, but were planning on carrying on after Campo Poincenot and take in Laguna Torre the next day. I had a bus booked for El Calafate the next night, so was a bit apprehensive we might not be back in time (given the etiquette of group hiking) but we agreed that if I needed to go faster on the way back down, I would go ahead and split from the group.

After camp, after almost scrambling the last hour of pretty steep incline, up boulders, as you walk over the pass and take in the first (relatively) up-close sight of Cerro Fitz Roy and its surroundings literally had me welling up. It was almost sunset, There were views of the three lakes to the west, the deep, far mountains and the tinest view of the now seemingly toy town to the east, the sky was all manner of colours, and the – and I use this word never – majestic sight of Fitz Roy before you. To say it was emotional was a vast understatement.

The respect felt for inanimate matter was unlike I`d experienced before. And that was having seen Machu Picchu, Iguazu Falls, Sugar Loaf mountain… you get the idea.

Onwards and downwards to El Calafate…

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Vices, mice(s), and social devices: Part I

9 Apr

Not quite sure how to pick this one up, as it’s been a fair few weeks, and SO much has happened, but I`ll try.

I seem to have been going back on forth on the travelling alone thing. Clearly nine days out of 10, it`s the best thing ever. Total freedom, the option of being completely selfish, guilt-free, and for a scatty/whimsical/contrary person such as myself, it means you can change your mind a lot and at short notice without worrying about messing up anyone else`s plans but your own.

But there are always a few things that stick. And it depends, 100% on state of mind at the time. The obvious common one is eating out alone. Particularly if, as a bit of a foodie, you are inclined towards nice restaurants. It`s just not that easy. There`s something of the `wannabe food critic-meets-Alan Partridge`about it, at least for me, anyway.

Unless of course, you have a prop. A book (trying to leave Kindle at home in fear of getting it nicked), a Lonely Planet (often handbag is too small to carry around), a phone (I don`t), a Blackberry (I don`t), a laptop (ooh, get me, people might think I`m a writer! I am, but I still don`t), you get the gist.

Then it got me thinking about social tools more generally. Or social vices. Smoking, asking someone to share a beer {they tend to come in 1L bottles, and even I think twice about ordering one to myself ;o)}, taking photographs, reading a map, asking for directions…. they all put you in that `safe`territory when out alone of Things You Can Do Without Feeling Embarrassed for not having a friend/partner/anyone to lean on.

So conscious of this, and all too aware of that feeling of `If you`re alone, people obviously assume you want or need someone to come over and talk to you` I decided to try and kick out some of the tools deliberately. 

I have no idea where I`m going with this, by the way, just that in trying to become comfortable with just ´being´ I`ve tried to resist my comfort zone on several occasions. I think it`s working. 

Having left BA last time just less than a month ago, I decided to head south, eager to hit the Lakes District before the weather started to turn colder.

I was set on being back in BA first weekend in April for El Festival, with Pearl Jam, The Black Keys and Hot Chip headlining (it didn`t happen), so had three weeks to `do`Patagonia – perfectly feasible, I thought.

Upon arrival in Bariloche, I was greeted by the most incredible sight of Lago Nahul Huapi, which was in full view from the full size windows along the side of the lounge room.

Conscious of time, I was keen on getting out and about sooner rather than later, so I did my usual wander around the town, grabbed some lunch (during which I managed to understand from the local news that something rather important had happened with the new Pope and Buenos Aires – gotta love my pigeon Spanish. Thanks Janet for fleshing that one out for me!), did some recon on the myriad outdoorsy activities available and generally enjoyed the stunning views. All alone, no less, no props, no company (get me, practising what I preach). 

Got back to the hostel – thanks Annie, at Penthouse 1004, had a fleeting reunion with China (hope you `re getting on okay mate) and found two Americans to go cycling with the next morning. There´s a pretty common route called the Circuito Chico. It`s 12kms, and I thought, `Chico… must be a pretty easy ride. That`ll do for easing me into things`. 

Wow.

When I asked Annie if there was a longer route, perhaps more challenging, she looked at me like I was gone out. “Why would you want to do longer?” she asked, very direct.

“Erm… it`s only 12kms”

“Trust me, it`s like this”, motioning undulating hills with her hand.

Ok, so, next morning, Jacob. Terry and I set off on the bus to collect our bikes. 

Jacob might be a big guy, but he`s pretty fit, according to his friend.

Terry cycled regularly, and had done the Appalachian Trail.

I hoped I had not bitten off more than I could chew. 

It was a long, hard day, with some killer hills, a bit of off-roading, and some breathaking scenery. We didn’t take enough food, and hadn`t factored in the siesta taken the rare restaurants, kioscos and cafes along the route, which meant we were all running on empty.

A few occasions caused my potty mouth to kick in. All fine, you might think, when expressing pain (a pedal whacking you VERY hard in the Achilles), frustration (seemingly neverending uphills), or awe (EFFing gorgeous views). Until, you get talking to your cycling companions and realise one is a missionary, and the other a preacher of The Church.

I say The Church in caps because at this point I felt that they would have been using them had they been writing rather than speaking.

Woops (know your audience, Shaw!).

Turns out my cycle buddies were devoted Mormons. And very likely didn’t take kindly to mine and Janet’s tales of how we planned to spend St Patrick’s Day, our joint desires to hit Burning Man (one was from Nevada) and general non-Mormon ways. Nice bike ride though.

Next stop, El Bolson. Or Lago Puelo, to be more accurate. The two lovely Israelis I met at the hostel (two of the many I`ve met along the way doing their post-national service year out) had highly recommended an Italian-run hostel called Rey Sol. They talked about loveliness of morning yoga classes, meditation, organic produce and a handful of dogs that resided there. 
Sounded like bliss, and the aforementioned Janet, my new Irish buddy, overheard us talking and decided it was also for her, so we jumped on the bus together the next day.

We arrived, and you had to laugh. The gorgeous, hippy, and ever-so-laidback Marco on reception showed us the list of services available.

“Except there`s no kitchen, that`s closed. So you can`t have breakfast. Or dinner or lunch.

“And the lady who teaches yoga is ill right now.

“Oh, and so there’s no meditation either. Or massage. Or Reiki.

“And I think that might be it.”

We both laughed, and just to make sure we weren`t mistaken, we asked, “So you have rooms?”

“Yes, we have nice rooms.” He was being serious. And laughed with us, probably out of politeness rather than understanding our sarcasm. Or stonedness.

Either way, we ended up having a very odd (and probably more sober affair of a) Paddy`s Day, took a picnic to the beautiful lake and then left the next day to the `City`of El Bolson.

For those who have not been, El Bolson is far from a city. It is a village at best, and at end of season is a tiny village. But it is home to a bar/restaurant, and internet cafe, and amazing ice cream shop in Jauja as well as the cutest little craft market.

Because our sober Paddy`s Day was proving to choke the hilarious Janet from Limerick, we somehow wound up drinking homebrew with the owners of the ill-equipped hostel and their hippy friends.

As a result, we both felt like sh1t the next day. 

“Ooh, a masseur in the market. That`s what we need!”

Enter Hernan. Robed in white linen, long dark hair, weighed about 7 stone wet through, but had a lovely way about him, a bit smile and strong fingers, we reckoned it was a winner.

Janet went first, and 20 mins later I followed suit, and was trying to ignore the rather forgotten sensation around the side-of-boob area.

We finished, paid our way, had a group hug, and said farewell to Hernan, who reminded us that he did hostel visits.

You can see where this is going…

Janet turns to me: “That was nice. But was any of your massage rather inappropriate?”

Me: “Oh, you mean the creepìng fingers trying to reach the side-boob?”

Her: “Oh no. I mean the full on nipple access reached via the side-boob!”

Ah. 

But he was so innocent, so, well, goddamn HIPPY, with it, we decided it somehow seemed sweet rather than pervy. Anyone seeking public place side-boob action in El Bolson, let me know and I will pass on his details.

Next stop, El Chalten…

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Huge Ups and Dow… nah, simply less big Ups!

11 Mar

Within about three hours of arriving in Buenos Aires, I pretty much felt like I could live there. The European flavour of the city helps, I suppose, but it was so much more than that. The people (la gente es muy guapo/a), the food, the lush green spaces, the shopping/bar/restaurants of Palermo, Freddo (best ice cream since Mendoza!), its culture (seen two of the best art collections – classic and contemporary – in the museos Belles Artes and Malba respectively), the feeling of space… I could go on, and no doubt will.

Given my time in Brazil, I lost a bit of confidence in talking Spanish, but that has grown over the week. I think it has helped also that I`ve met up with various friends from along the way here, this week, and also made some new ones. 

The hostel I was in was friendly, clean, relaxed and homely, so in general my `base` was problem-free. And in walking around the city every day, even though I seem to have lost the ability to read a map or tell my left from right (doesn`t help that the three maps I`ve been using all face different directions… least that`s the excuse I`m sticking to), I have gained a sense of the areas I prefer to those I don`t, where to go for a relaxed sit outside, where I feel more or less comfortable eating by myself, versus those places I`d rather have company.

Even found a small square with a rock band that play most nights outside, doing Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin covers, which has been pretty cool.

Went to a drum concert called La Bomba de Tiempo on Monday, which seems to be THE thing to do on Mondays as pretty much everyone I`ve met was there. Awesome night and so much fun. Since being in BA I`ve also, learned to horse ride, eaten more steak than is probably healthy, drank some amazing (and CHEAP) wines, caught up on lots of sleep, visited several parks, made friends with some guys who run a gaucho shop (Thanks for the intro Michael!), been bicycling all over the city and generally had a ball.

Oh, and bought a few presents (only very small ones due to space restrictions, which is annoying given how great the shopping is!) from the various cool markets and stalls here.

The only things I`ve not managed yet are a football game, a tango class/show (not for want of trying one particular night, that was somewhat hijacked! But the less said about that the better!) and been to the polo demos. That said, as I will be coming back to BA on my return path from Patagonia, I reckon I can hold back a couple of things to look forward to.

Now, about Colonia del Sacramento… FFS!!

Talk about a frustrating city! Now I will take partial responsibility for not really thinking things through as well as I might have, but even so, this place is messed up.

So, given the sorry state of economic affairs in Argentina, upon some sound advice, I decided to head over to Colonia, Uruguay for a 24 hour cash run.

That is, take advantage of the blue rate (or black market) for selling US dollars. Now, while this is Dodgy McDodge, it is such a widespread dodge, it feels normal. Bit like the Dover-Calais booze cruises that were so popular once upon a time.

A Canadian guy I`d met on the cycle tour seemed keen on the idea as well, so I met him over here and we figured it would be a piece of cake. Not realising that a) EVERYONE would have had the same idea, rendering the ATMs machines empty, and that given that, Doh, it`s the weekend, means they won`t be filling up until Monday. Perhaps (this is South America, after all).

So my 24 hour trip then extended to 48 hours, to at least try and make it worthwhile coming in the first place.

Against that, there is bugger all to do in Colonia. There are a couple of nice restaurants, one bar, which opens (yep, Opens!) at 2.30am. And after a very emphatic review by some Eastern European and Finnish guys who have lived here, working at the port, for over a year that “It`s shit. Don`t bother.” And “One day is more than enough for this place!” we figured our time was better spent, well, doing nothing!

Today looked promising, in that, frankly, I knew I was leaving. Having got up and about early to be outside the cash machine as it opened was futile. “They open at 1pm,” my receptionist told me. “But will they have filled up all the machines?” I asked, hopeful. A cursory shoulder shrug was all I got.

Ok, I get it.

So, an enormous lunch, a LOT of standing around later, and now the repeated attempts to use all three of my three cards has probably caused the bank to put a block on them (Yay, more admin. Awesome. I love admin in the UK, obviously. Its South American cousin doesn´t make me want to throw myself under a bus much at all, no no..), I`ve ended up with some USDs. Probably saving myself just enough to cover the cost of my weekend here. 

But, let`s get some perspective… all this was happening, in Uruguay, in the sunshine, with no pressing need to really be doing any of it, except to make my own very selfish and lovely time even cheaper and therefore more lovely.

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Long overdue pics.

11 Mar

Piense que este es un resumen de fotos… se llama Ya Mi Viaje: desde Lima-Cusco-Macchu Picchu-Arequipa-Puno-Lake Titicaca-Copacabana-La Paz-Rurrenbaque-Sucre-Potosi-Uyuni-San Pedro de Atacama-Salta-Mendoza-Santiago-Isla Negra-Valparaiso-Rio-Florianopolis-Iguazu-Bs As-hasta-Colonia. TBC…ImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImage, … TBC…Image

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Long overdue pics.

11 Mar

Piense que este es un resumen de fotos… se llama Ya Mi Viaje: desde Lima-Cusco-Macchu Picchu-Arequipa-Puno-Lake Titicaca-Copacabana-La Paz-Rurrenbaque-Sucre-Potosi-Uyuni-San Pedro de Atacama-Salta-Mendoza-Santiago-Isla Negra-Valparaiso-Rio-Florianopolis-Iguazu-Bs As-hasta-Colonia. TBC…ImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImageImage, … TBC…Image

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FINALLY escaped!

9 Jan

FINALLY escaped!.

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This crazy place that is La Paz…

27 Dec

It´s been quite a week since I left sunny Arequipa.

La Paz is probably one of the strangest cities I´ve been to. It kind of reminds me of somewhere, but I can´t place where for the life of me. It´s poor, grubby, high, you´re constantly out of breath, there are so many weird things and juxtaposed cultural references. Oh, and a million fried chicken shops.

It´s pretty cool, and I´ve already been warned that it´s the kind of place you can get stuck!

My first day or two were spent mainly just wandering around getting my bearings, which isn´t that hard, given the main road that runs through the centre is ´down´and everywhere else that leads off it is pretty much úp´.
I didn´t think I´d been affected too badly by the altitide when I was in Cusco, bar a few headaches, but after a couple of days here, plus not sleeping, I had a bit of a moment the other day.
After quite a heavy night (the two girls I was sharing with were quote ill, so I went down to the bar to meet some more newbies), not really sleeping very well (there´s been a snorer and a sleep-talker in my dorm the last week, but been trying to avoid turning to the earplugs until it gets REALLY desperate, trying to retrain my ears I guess!) anyway, a bit of a rough night, got up, went for breakfast, and started to feel a bit queasy. Lay there for a few hours, knackered but unable to sleep, trying to read but essentially just feeling like I was going a little bit crazy, decided to go out for a wander for some air.
As some of you may know, Christmas is always a bit of a weird time for me. Or it has been the last few years anyway.
That´s been playing on my mind – missing my dad, my family who are still around, my friends, and the usual home comforts I guess I took for granted that I wouldn´t be too upset about (hope that doesn´t sound terrible, and that you know what I mean!).
So, was all going a bit weird and my mind was going into overdrive, so I decided to go out for a walk to get some air and see some stuff around the city.
Only went up and down a couple of streets to the ATM and up to one of the pretty squares two blocks from the hostel, and I couldn´t get my breath.
I´d been chatting with a Belgian guy earlier that morning who said he´d also been having problems, but I hadn´t felt too bad.
Anyway, a very odd day was spent walking around feeling like an old woman, unable to breathe (feeling for any asthmatics reading this!), kept having to stop and rest, which obviously makes you feel rather vulnerable, and eventually made my way to the coca museum for a bit of a rest.
Then thought I was going to pass out or vomit whilst in there, reading the information about all the farming, processing, political and exporting of the coca leaves etc.
So I had to head into a restaurant to get my head together and wait till I felt less sick.
Went back and straight to bed after that, and been right as rain since.
So that was a bit of an odd one.

I think my key to things so far seems to be expect nothing, be prepared for everything, and just listen to your body and go at your own pace. I can´t believe I´ve already been here nearly a month, but each week seems to be packing a lot in, without feeling rushed, so it feels like I´ve already done a lot with the time I´ve been here.

Since then, on Sunday afternoon a bunch of us went to this local tradition called Cholitas wrestling. We all thought we were going to see local women battering each other to bits, but sadly (!) it was a bit like a very poorman´s WWF. In Bolivia.

Christmas eve, I bit the bullet and did the mountain bike trip, the World´s Most Dangerous Road, or the Death Road (sorry to anyone who advised me against it, but I´m glad I ignored you as it was brilliant!! As I didn´t have a similar death wish or ego to match some of the people doing it though, I took it nice and steady, taking in some of the most stunning scenery I´ve seen so far). There is a CD with photos on it that they´ve given us, but I need to work out how to upload and all that jazz. Starting to wonder if I should have bought my own laptop with me after all. That said, I´ve seen a lot of people around the hostel seem to be glued to their phones/laptops/WiFis etc and I´m kind of glad I didn´t. And it´s just one more thing to worry about I suppose!
Christmas in the hostel was lots of fun (sorry for any Skype related non-calls, but I think the world and their wife was trying to get through on Xmas day and every Australian under the sun was trying to get through on Christmas eve!). We (I´ve been hanging around with three girls from Sydney, Kent and Galway the last couple of weeks, plus an Irish guy who left yesterday to climb the big mountain outside La Paz, who, oddly enough, I used to work with his cousin Eamonn – any BCL-ites past or present will appreciate that one) all had Christmas turkey and all the trimmings and spent Christmas day, well, doing what everyone would have been doing at home which was eating and drinking too much and generally having a good time.
Ended up in this shonky nightclub briefly on Christmas day night, but didn´t stick around too long as there were too many weirdos in there!

Tomorrow the girls and I are headed to the jungle, via a place called Rurrenabaque (or something like that), for a few days, back to La Paz for New Year´s eve.

There has been a lot of toing and froing about where to be and what to do for NYE, and logistics have dictated that I´ll be in La Paz for that as well as Christmas. We´re staying in a really cool hostel with lots of fun people, so it was a case of better the devil you know. Also, the jungle trip gets us out and back a day later than we´d hoped, so to avoid a 14 hour overnight bus ride on New Year´s Eve, we figured just stay here (familiar, have made some friends etc) and then move on 2nd Jan.

Thinking Sucre, Potosi and then Salar de Uyuni after here, before heading into Chile (don´t worry mum, will keep an eye on the volcano news!!).

Apologies for the lack of photos, but the computers here don´t seem to be recognising my camera files. But I´m sure there will be more than your fair share once I suss that out. Or get home.

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