This is the second part of my adventures through Patagonia.
7 November—El Calafate, Argentina
Drove to Calafate.
Nancy, Ramona and I shared a pizza for lunch, although by the time we ventured out it was around 4:30pm. Looking out the window, the three of us were amused to see the boys standing on the pavement, laughing their heads off, the reason unapparent to us until a saw the sign on the stop next to them, which read ‘Tit’ followed by a picture of an icecream. The whole thing was meant to read ‘Tito’ but it just looked like ‘tit’ and the boys were finding it very funny. We laughed at them laughing at ‘tit’.
I spent the afternoon walking around with Nancy, picked up a neck-warmer, and then spent three hours in a net café updating my blog. A few people appear to be reading it, which is nice.
I got a bit lost that night so I got myself a coffee and some food in the petrol station and gazed out the window into the darkness. Luckily Becks, Jane and Steph were walking past and I was able to drop my idea of staying overnight at the petrol station (as exciting as that may have been).
8 November – the Perito Moreno Glacier, Argentina
Visited the Perito Moreno Glacier by boat. Every now and again, an immense roar could be heard like Thunder rolling over the glacier and shortly afterwards, the edge crumbled and crashed dramatically into the water. I loved the undulations in the ice and the deep blue folds. This is something that Shelley describes magnificently in her writings.
For dinner, we all went to a crepe restaurant where I had some lovely thick tomato soup and a glass of Malbec. Then I got to pig out of a delicious crepe for dessert with honey, walnuts, banana and cream, and caramel lace as decoration, all for about 50 Argentinean dollars (around AU$17). Good think I heeded Clare’s warning (she had eaten here before) and shared.
I slept incredibly well, and didn’t even get through a page of my book before drifting off.
9 November—to El Chalten, Argentina
Left after breakfast this morning and drove to El Chalten.
10 November—El Chalten, Argentina
Walked to Lago de los Tres, to view the lake and Mount Fitzroy. Can hardly describe the scenery. Sky overcast and leaden. The lakes glistened and changed colour as we moved past them: from frosty white to steel grey, silver or even golden hues, and deep blues. The whole spectrum of the rainbow can be found in those lakes. More tiny wildflowers, red and yellow, along the way; the group stopped when we heard a woodpecker in the tree, and then saw that it was directly above us, furiously pecking away in search of grubs. It had a fabulous, bright red head; presumably the male. Shortly afterwards, another woodpecker, this one with a black head and splendid head-dress of black feathers, that wobbled back and forwards with its funny pecking motion. We were so amused, and lost half an hour at least watching this funny show of nature.
Patches of snow began to appear in the last few kilometers as we drew closer to the Lago de los Tres view-point. I fell behind, and just before the look-out I collapsed in the snow, feeling an immense wave of vertigo washing over me. I tried standing up but I felt like I was going to slip on the ice and go sliding down the mountainside, such was my fear, albeit illogical. The white cover of snow had a funny effect on my eyes, making me unable to tell whether the ground was sloping, or flat, or undulating. Clare was heading back down, so she helped me take little steps back down the slope. I was disappointed to turn back, however I got a good view of the peaks of Mount Fitzroy.
I felt that the middle peak looked like a shark being pulled up towards the sky by an invisible fishing line.
I had a good chat to Clare on the way down. I was tired when we got back. My legs had become, in Juan’s words, “jelly legs”.
11 November—El Chalten, Argentina
Some of the group went iceclimbing today. I stayed in and tried to recover from the cold that is creeping down my system. Drinking ginger tea and honey all day.
12 November—Chilean Fjord coast
Most of the day driving towards the Chilean border. Stayed overnight at a small lodge near the Cuerva de los Manos, in what I think is called the Santa Cruz district. The owner was a heavy man with a slightly grumpy face and white hair, but easily pleased and very chatty.
Visited the Cuerva de los Manos (meaning cave of hands, now a UNESCO site since the 1990s) which I found really interesting, particularly the similarities between the cave art I saw here and cave art in Australia. The way that people, animals, watering holes etc. are depicted, are remarkably similar.
It was a very windy day – helmet blew off and disappeared down the hillside.
Had a long chat that night to the charming young Juan. He had a lot to say about the Chavez government of Venezuela , that echoed Luis’s opinions; the true nature of socialism; the point (or lack thereof) of investment properties; the meaning of happiness, greed in human nature, and so forth. I don't think I'd ever talked to somebody before who was exactly at my level of thinking; we were reading each others thoughts. The clock struck midnight, I got my first birthday hug, and I went back to my bunk with a lot to think about. There was a lot Juan had to say that I didn't know, about the history of latin America. There weren’t enough rooms, so Juan slept on the concrete floor of the kitchen by the heater for warmth.
13 November-- Chilean Fjord coast
What a wonderful, wonderful day. Had porridge for breakfast and some presents – chocolate, the best possible thing to receive on a road trip, from Becks, Claire, Steph and Jane, and a gift from Rob that I haven’t opened yet.
Then back on the road, towards Chile. Nature presented its usual wonders. The Argentinean steppe is, to me, a form of heaven. The soft grass stretches seemingly on forever, and the bordering mountains glisten and provide endless awe and wonder. Meadows of yellow wildflower floated dreamily by. Saw eagles, condors, rabbits, sheep and their young, guanacos and a fox.
Gaetano and Juan decided to take a shortcut over the border, at a road that supposedly turned off at an estancia. We became lost and stopped for lunch at an unknown place by the side of the road. The weather was glorious; the wind had dropped and the sun made a brief appearance, which we felt on our backs. We set up chairs, a table, our washing up bowls, and prepared a pasta. I was delighted to be given the job of chopping tomatoes - my favourite poem is ‘Ode to the Tomato’ by Pablo Neruda, and we were approaching his land. I “assassinated” the tomato in this dreamy setting. Sitting down with a cup of red wine, my pasta, great company, and snow-capped mountains filling the view before me, I thought to myself (and said out aloud), I have never had a better birthday than this one, my 26th.
After lunch, I clambered back onto the Mamasita (I conveniently did the washing up so I was last) and everybody sang Happy Birthday. I was a bit embarrassed by all the attention, but really touched. The girls had constructed a ‘cake’ of a mountain of cup-cakes, with a lit candle on top, and underneath was a sheet of brown paper on which they had drawn balloons. I was seriously touched that they’d done this for me.
Then the boys and I got to ride on the roof of the Mamasita until we reached the control point for Chile. It was the most fun I had had in a long while.
At the control point, we played soccer with a dog and some of the guys that work at the border. The official was taking an incredibly long time to stamp each passport. When I finally got inside, I saw a cheery young man, who was taking his job very seriously hence the delay. Juan mentioned it was my birthday, bless him, and I got a line or two of ‘happy birthday’ in English. I guess the job must be a bit dull and that the officials amuse themselves with soccer, flirting, and making chit-chat with the voyageurs passing through.
We are now over the border. Could not continue on the roof unfortunately. But the view out the window is truly spectacular, and ever-changing. We have passed yellow meadows, flood plains glistening green and silver, waterfalls, gushing streams of white water, mysterious woods that would take a lifetime to explore, and rocky hills that climb to the sky.
Patches of white snow appear from time to time. Let’s hope they will be forever there, outside of the warm season. The soft rolling hills remind me of home in their golden hues, and of the poem ‘I love a Sunburnt Country' by Dorothea Mackellar...
Short, dead trees spout from the ground in places, like hands reaching out from their graves. This country can evoke terror and love simultaneously – what power it has over the spirit and the human mind...
The wildlife is abundant here, though much is hidden to the unwatching eye.
sábado, 16 de enero de 2010
viernes, 15 de enero de 2010
On board the Mamasita: Part I
The day after I got lost in Ushuaia (southern-most town in the world I think, at the bottom of Argentina), I joined an amazing group of 21 (or so) people from all different places travelling across Patagonia onboard a fabulous magical truck called the Mamasita. This is a brief (if this is possible) record of my adventures with them.
31 October – Tierra del Fuego
Someday, I’ll copy down all the information that was in the brochures given to us, but for now, I’ll just sketch out roughing the things I remember the most vividly. The holly, primrose and the tiny yellow flowers that like to grow in the water…the serrated beech and the evergreen beech…the hollowed out trees where the woodpeckers live…the tree trunks knawed at by the beavers leaving enormous bite sized holes, and a piteous sight indeed. The female duck that incubates for thirty days, without moving so much as an eyelid (do ducks have eyelids? Hmm), whilst her devoted partner stands by and guards her. And my favourite: the kelp geese, that stays monogamous until one of them dies. When the male dies, the female finds a new partner straightaway, the unfaithful bitch. But when the female dies, the male will only least a month or two before he dies. He can’t live without her. Literally.
Back in Ushuaia, in the evening, the girl in the hostel showed me how to make maté in my little silver maté (a gourd carved into a cup for drinking tea out of) and we shared it around, the way it’s done in Argentina, Gaetano, myself and a couple of others, until about 1am. I met two young Argies this way, Hernan and Esteban. Really nice guys.
The snow fell about the cabins, and wet my socks.
1 November—Ushuaia
I have found, in the book exchange in the hostel in Ushuaia, a book called ‘The Essential Frankenstein’ by Mary Wollestonecraft Shelley, edited by Leonard Wolf. It starts with an essay by Wolf, which I find incredibly fascinating, as I knew nothing previously about Shelley or about her mother, Mary Wollestonecraft. I think this book is going to become an obsession. It’s already engaged me in a big way and taught me a lot about love, life, family and education in the early 19th century. I love how books can do that. Books can change your life or set you on a new path. It’s so exciting. Did you know Mary Shelley was only 18 when she wrote Frankenstein?
We have crossed the Chilean border, with little fuss, and now close to Punta Arenas where I think we are spending the night. It is dark now, and hard to write, or to continue reading Shelley. Ginny is rugged up in my poncho next to me, my truck buddy. Everybody looks sleepy. I think we have arrived. [I’m copying segments from my journal which I kept every day of my trip in South America. I’ve made a few changes and left a heap of stuff out, but otherwise it’s pretty much straight from my journal.]
2 November—Torres del Paine
What a beautiful, beautiful drive. Now in Torres del Paine, in Southern Chile. The rugged mountains and the lucid blue glacial lakes that lie beneath them are breathtaking.
Torres del Paine: a poem
O’er the plains a weary man
adorned in white rags stands,
hat tilted, perched upon his hoary head
to which he lifts his ancient weathered hands,
To shade his icy glacial eyes
from the steady burn of Phoebus's glare
And the furrows upon his eternal face
grow deeper year to year
His cragged joints creak and groan
beneath the wayward fury of the sun,
And beneath a cloak of ice
For this is his disguise --
the veiled monstrous Torres del Paine.
3 November—the ‘W’ trek, Torres Del Paine
Tramped over 20km today in rain and sleet, first stretch of the W trek. We passed the glacier lake and headed towards the Grey Glacier. But it got late and we had to turn back. Had we left at 1pm or earlier, and not 2pm, we would have made it there. We were about one mile off, apparently. We weren’t to know though – the maps aren’t very sophisticated, and there are no signs along the way. So it was a gamble, really, as to whether we would make it there.
I saw a lot of really beautiful flowers, including a brilliant red, spidery one. And the mountain peaks, ragged like a haphazard city skyline, was awe-inspiring and took my breath away.
Now I am in bed at the lodge, it is 9.45pm, and I am so tired and stiff that I feel you could pick me up and drop me and I could break into a thousand pieces.
4 November—2nd day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres Del Paine
Woke early. Convinced myself that I could not continue on with the W trek because my legs were still so stiff, and decided to get the ferry back to camp. But after doing some leg stretches, and being told that I can cross the bottom of the W (forming a U, or a little w, instead of a capital W - cheating, essentially, but better than going back),I believe I can go on.
I woke up thinking about a big tree I saw yesterday—a beech I think—that was all burnt out. Maybe it fell in love with another beech, and it’s heart burnt so fiercely that it burnt itself out, completely hollow.
Maybe trees have hearts. Maybe they can feel...
I am reading The Essential Frankenstein again, quickly becoming one of my favourite books, and discovering how narrow my education really is. Did you know that when Mary Shelley was only 16, she read over a hundred volumes of literature and philosophy in one year, including Shakespeare, Goethe, Rousseau, Milton and Spenser? That is pretty phenomenal when you think about it. I haven’t read that much over my entire course of study.
We reached the cabin after about six hours of walking through lightly falling snow. We had views of the glacier lake the whole time, on our right most of the time, and we passed several beautiful stony beaches. The dark fir trees were covered in crisp white snow and red flowers bloomed amongst the white and green, giving the perfect picture of Christmas.
I loved the deeper, darker woods, particularly when the branches were laden with snow. I imagined fairies, goblins, and the Brothers Grimm. The forest is a magical place, and always has been in my mind since childhood.
5 November—3rd day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres del Paine
Woke from terrible dreams. But I feel better now. The cabin has a log fire and the most beautiful views (of the mountains) I have ever seen out a window in all my life. The snow fell more heavily towards the end of the day and dressed the tree branches with a glistening white ball gown.
Another beautiful day of walking.
Later at the cabin, I continued reading The Essential Frankenstein from my bunk bed and my imagination blazed as brightly as the fire in the heath. I watched the shadows on the wall of the dormitory and imagined a stiff-legged hiker wearing a headlamp entering the room after a long day of trekking, casting an expanding Creature-like shadow. This book is stirring things in me big time!
I slept beautifully on this night, and no bad dreams.
6 November—4th and last day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres del Paine
Last day of the W. The previous night, I decided that I would not reach the final point of the W trek (the glacial lookout), because it required waking at around 5:30am and setting out at 6am, as the walk was estimated to be around nine hours long, and my legs were simply giving in. This is despite my belief that one can do anything if one sets one’s mind to it.
I had a sleep in, read by the fireplace, washed and dried my clothes, and generally spent the morning in a mundane but comfortable way. Julie and I have been chatting a lot today. Such a lovely girl.
After a nice dense piece of chocolate tart, Rob and I set out to walk at least to the first lookout, at the Refugio Chileno. It was a steep incline most of the way, and we encountered several people of horseback heading the opposite direction. To our right, the land fell away forming a sandy, slippery hillside, and with the path as narrow as it was, I was a little afraid of misplacing my feet and slipping.
The scenery along the way was as breathtaking as the last two days have been, but still varied in topography and plant life. I saw the same little yellow and red flowers that I’ve become acquainted with in my trekking here, as well as some red bell-shaped flowers which I thought to be really pretty.
I emphasize, again, how steep the climb was. Despite having only completed a third of that day’s walk (if that), I got to the refugio feeling extremely satisfied. Rob was pleased, too, that he had made an effort to get out and make the most of what was left of the day.
I admired the gushing water under the bridge, then we took our boots off and went inside for a hot chocolate. It seems that it is from here where people go horseriding – we saw a number of Chilean men standing by their horses, dressed in jodhpurs and berets (which seems to be the typical dress for the activity).
The return walk – nearly entirely downhill – took less than half an hour, instead of the estimated hour! When we got back, the group was all ready to go, and the taxi had just arrived to take us back to the other side of the Pehoe lake. We had to get out at one point for the vehicle to cross a bridge. The wind blew ferociously. It is still very cold here in Patagonia, and few tourists.
Gaetano was waiting to pick us up on the other side.
I made a silly mistake today. Shortly before arriving at our cabin, I had embarked alone upon a wide river, flowing rapidly, yet shallow enough to cross if one took off one’s boots and socks (or so I thought). I did this, and began rolling up my trousers. Upon dipping in my big tow however, I quickly decided that the water (coming directly from the ice-capped mountain) was much too cold to cross. How did the others do it? I was alone; everybody else was either too far behind, or well ahead. I walked up and down the river-side looking for a part of the river that was crossable, by stepping-stones; I was unsuccessful, and I felt myself starting to feel anxious. Finally I looked up to see Rebecca jumping up and down and waving her arms frantically to get my attention, on the other side of the river – she was clearly visible in her bright red jacket, but I had simply not looked up – and indicating to the right. I waved, and scrambled up the hill that bordered the river, discovering to my surprise (and embarrassment) that there was a bridge further upstream, and very close. Silly, silly Sabine.
Camped back at the Pehoe campsite. Very, v. COLD.
31 October – Tierra del Fuego
Someday, I’ll copy down all the information that was in the brochures given to us, but for now, I’ll just sketch out roughing the things I remember the most vividly. The holly, primrose and the tiny yellow flowers that like to grow in the water…the serrated beech and the evergreen beech…the hollowed out trees where the woodpeckers live…the tree trunks knawed at by the beavers leaving enormous bite sized holes, and a piteous sight indeed. The female duck that incubates for thirty days, without moving so much as an eyelid (do ducks have eyelids? Hmm), whilst her devoted partner stands by and guards her. And my favourite: the kelp geese, that stays monogamous until one of them dies. When the male dies, the female finds a new partner straightaway, the unfaithful bitch. But when the female dies, the male will only least a month or two before he dies. He can’t live without her. Literally.
Back in Ushuaia, in the evening, the girl in the hostel showed me how to make maté in my little silver maté (a gourd carved into a cup for drinking tea out of) and we shared it around, the way it’s done in Argentina, Gaetano, myself and a couple of others, until about 1am. I met two young Argies this way, Hernan and Esteban. Really nice guys.
The snow fell about the cabins, and wet my socks.
1 November—Ushuaia
I have found, in the book exchange in the hostel in Ushuaia, a book called ‘The Essential Frankenstein’ by Mary Wollestonecraft Shelley, edited by Leonard Wolf. It starts with an essay by Wolf, which I find incredibly fascinating, as I knew nothing previously about Shelley or about her mother, Mary Wollestonecraft. I think this book is going to become an obsession. It’s already engaged me in a big way and taught me a lot about love, life, family and education in the early 19th century. I love how books can do that. Books can change your life or set you on a new path. It’s so exciting. Did you know Mary Shelley was only 18 when she wrote Frankenstein?
We have crossed the Chilean border, with little fuss, and now close to Punta Arenas where I think we are spending the night. It is dark now, and hard to write, or to continue reading Shelley. Ginny is rugged up in my poncho next to me, my truck buddy. Everybody looks sleepy. I think we have arrived. [I’m copying segments from my journal which I kept every day of my trip in South America. I’ve made a few changes and left a heap of stuff out, but otherwise it’s pretty much straight from my journal.]
2 November—Torres del Paine
What a beautiful, beautiful drive. Now in Torres del Paine, in Southern Chile. The rugged mountains and the lucid blue glacial lakes that lie beneath them are breathtaking.
Torres del Paine: a poem
O’er the plains a weary man
adorned in white rags stands,
hat tilted, perched upon his hoary head
to which he lifts his ancient weathered hands,
To shade his icy glacial eyes
from the steady burn of Phoebus's glare
And the furrows upon his eternal face
grow deeper year to year
His cragged joints creak and groan
beneath the wayward fury of the sun,
And beneath a cloak of ice
For this is his disguise --
the veiled monstrous Torres del Paine.
3 November—the ‘W’ trek, Torres Del Paine
Tramped over 20km today in rain and sleet, first stretch of the W trek. We passed the glacier lake and headed towards the Grey Glacier. But it got late and we had to turn back. Had we left at 1pm or earlier, and not 2pm, we would have made it there. We were about one mile off, apparently. We weren’t to know though – the maps aren’t very sophisticated, and there are no signs along the way. So it was a gamble, really, as to whether we would make it there.
I saw a lot of really beautiful flowers, including a brilliant red, spidery one. And the mountain peaks, ragged like a haphazard city skyline, was awe-inspiring and took my breath away.
Now I am in bed at the lodge, it is 9.45pm, and I am so tired and stiff that I feel you could pick me up and drop me and I could break into a thousand pieces.
4 November—2nd day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres Del Paine
Woke early. Convinced myself that I could not continue on with the W trek because my legs were still so stiff, and decided to get the ferry back to camp. But after doing some leg stretches, and being told that I can cross the bottom of the W (forming a U, or a little w, instead of a capital W - cheating, essentially, but better than going back),I believe I can go on.
I woke up thinking about a big tree I saw yesterday—a beech I think—that was all burnt out. Maybe it fell in love with another beech, and it’s heart burnt so fiercely that it burnt itself out, completely hollow.
Maybe trees have hearts. Maybe they can feel...
I am reading The Essential Frankenstein again, quickly becoming one of my favourite books, and discovering how narrow my education really is. Did you know that when Mary Shelley was only 16, she read over a hundred volumes of literature and philosophy in one year, including Shakespeare, Goethe, Rousseau, Milton and Spenser? That is pretty phenomenal when you think about it. I haven’t read that much over my entire course of study.
We reached the cabin after about six hours of walking through lightly falling snow. We had views of the glacier lake the whole time, on our right most of the time, and we passed several beautiful stony beaches. The dark fir trees were covered in crisp white snow and red flowers bloomed amongst the white and green, giving the perfect picture of Christmas.
I loved the deeper, darker woods, particularly when the branches were laden with snow. I imagined fairies, goblins, and the Brothers Grimm. The forest is a magical place, and always has been in my mind since childhood.
5 November—3rd day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres del Paine
Woke from terrible dreams. But I feel better now. The cabin has a log fire and the most beautiful views (of the mountains) I have ever seen out a window in all my life. The snow fell more heavily towards the end of the day and dressed the tree branches with a glistening white ball gown.
Another beautiful day of walking.
Later at the cabin, I continued reading The Essential Frankenstein from my bunk bed and my imagination blazed as brightly as the fire in the heath. I watched the shadows on the wall of the dormitory and imagined a stiff-legged hiker wearing a headlamp entering the room after a long day of trekking, casting an expanding Creature-like shadow. This book is stirring things in me big time!
I slept beautifully on this night, and no bad dreams.
6 November—4th and last day of the ‘W’ trek, Torres del Paine
Last day of the W. The previous night, I decided that I would not reach the final point of the W trek (the glacial lookout), because it required waking at around 5:30am and setting out at 6am, as the walk was estimated to be around nine hours long, and my legs were simply giving in. This is despite my belief that one can do anything if one sets one’s mind to it.
I had a sleep in, read by the fireplace, washed and dried my clothes, and generally spent the morning in a mundane but comfortable way. Julie and I have been chatting a lot today. Such a lovely girl.
After a nice dense piece of chocolate tart, Rob and I set out to walk at least to the first lookout, at the Refugio Chileno. It was a steep incline most of the way, and we encountered several people of horseback heading the opposite direction. To our right, the land fell away forming a sandy, slippery hillside, and with the path as narrow as it was, I was a little afraid of misplacing my feet and slipping.
The scenery along the way was as breathtaking as the last two days have been, but still varied in topography and plant life. I saw the same little yellow and red flowers that I’ve become acquainted with in my trekking here, as well as some red bell-shaped flowers which I thought to be really pretty.
I emphasize, again, how steep the climb was. Despite having only completed a third of that day’s walk (if that), I got to the refugio feeling extremely satisfied. Rob was pleased, too, that he had made an effort to get out and make the most of what was left of the day.
I admired the gushing water under the bridge, then we took our boots off and went inside for a hot chocolate. It seems that it is from here where people go horseriding – we saw a number of Chilean men standing by their horses, dressed in jodhpurs and berets (which seems to be the typical dress for the activity).
The return walk – nearly entirely downhill – took less than half an hour, instead of the estimated hour! When we got back, the group was all ready to go, and the taxi had just arrived to take us back to the other side of the Pehoe lake. We had to get out at one point for the vehicle to cross a bridge. The wind blew ferociously. It is still very cold here in Patagonia, and few tourists.
Gaetano was waiting to pick us up on the other side.
I made a silly mistake today. Shortly before arriving at our cabin, I had embarked alone upon a wide river, flowing rapidly, yet shallow enough to cross if one took off one’s boots and socks (or so I thought). I did this, and began rolling up my trousers. Upon dipping in my big tow however, I quickly decided that the water (coming directly from the ice-capped mountain) was much too cold to cross. How did the others do it? I was alone; everybody else was either too far behind, or well ahead. I walked up and down the river-side looking for a part of the river that was crossable, by stepping-stones; I was unsuccessful, and I felt myself starting to feel anxious. Finally I looked up to see Rebecca jumping up and down and waving her arms frantically to get my attention, on the other side of the river – she was clearly visible in her bright red jacket, but I had simply not looked up – and indicating to the right. I waved, and scrambled up the hill that bordered the river, discovering to my surprise (and embarrassment) that there was a bridge further upstream, and very close. Silly, silly Sabine.
Camped back at the Pehoe campsite. Very, v. COLD.
Travelling is not romantic (and some tips on Getting Lost)
Travelling is in itself not romantic; I repeat, not romantic. There it was: on the shower wall, in my hostel in La Paz (this is a little while ago, but I had not remembered it until now), wiry and black, as if growing directly out of the wall, at eye level. Somebody’s pubic hair.
I just stared at it, and continued washing my hair.
The next day, somebody having loud sex in the communal showers while I was brushing my teeth in there.
In San Pedro, another backpacker showing me his rash on his inner thigh, whilst I was eating my breakfast.
Lumpy mattresses and bed-frames you fall straight through. Room-mates with diarrohea (never learnt how to spell that word). Bed bugs. Mosquito bites. The list goes on!
I repeat: travelling is not romantic.
But do it anyway, of course.
And now some tips getting lost, as promised, from the world’s Expert. I get lost so often, that I have eventually learnt that there is a way of doing it properly, and in style. The same applies when it comes to losing oneself in life or life’s directions (I believe, anyway).
Tip #1: If you are going to get lost, get lost slowly. Take your time to look around. Don’t just look around, but up and down as well. There might be someone on a terrace above you who might wave at you (Everett taught me this, thank you Everett!). Or there might be someone stuck in a drain waving his hand around for attention. You might get medal for rescuing aforesaid man in drain. This has never happened to me personally, but you never know.
Tip #2: When lost in a residential area, say hello to people in their yards. You might learn how to say ‘hello’ in Hebrew, Spanish or any one of the hundreds of languages that are spoken in the burbs. Don’t forget their pets either. Stop to let a dog lick your hand through the fence. His day might be playing out monotonously or he hasn’t been for a run so he’s bored; meeting a stranger may have made his day.
Tip #3: When lost in the city, take time to look at the walls and the footpaths—they might have cool graffiti art on them. People actually pay to go on graffiti tours you know. You could do your own graffiti tour, on the way to wherever you are going. (Where was I going again?)
Anyway, soak it all in, whatever’s on the way to wherever you are going. Because say you never actually find your destination. Not only will you have never got there, but you will have missed everything on the way. Who wants to live like that? I know I don’t.
Today’s activity: getting lost in Ushuaia. Did I have a good time walking around and around in circles? Of course I did. :)
I just stared at it, and continued washing my hair.
The next day, somebody having loud sex in the communal showers while I was brushing my teeth in there.
In San Pedro, another backpacker showing me his rash on his inner thigh, whilst I was eating my breakfast.
Lumpy mattresses and bed-frames you fall straight through. Room-mates with diarrohea (never learnt how to spell that word). Bed bugs. Mosquito bites. The list goes on!
I repeat: travelling is not romantic.
But do it anyway, of course.
And now some tips getting lost, as promised, from the world’s Expert. I get lost so often, that I have eventually learnt that there is a way of doing it properly, and in style. The same applies when it comes to losing oneself in life or life’s directions (I believe, anyway).
Tip #1: If you are going to get lost, get lost slowly. Take your time to look around. Don’t just look around, but up and down as well. There might be someone on a terrace above you who might wave at you (Everett taught me this, thank you Everett!). Or there might be someone stuck in a drain waving his hand around for attention. You might get medal for rescuing aforesaid man in drain. This has never happened to me personally, but you never know.
Tip #2: When lost in a residential area, say hello to people in their yards. You might learn how to say ‘hello’ in Hebrew, Spanish or any one of the hundreds of languages that are spoken in the burbs. Don’t forget their pets either. Stop to let a dog lick your hand through the fence. His day might be playing out monotonously or he hasn’t been for a run so he’s bored; meeting a stranger may have made his day.
Tip #3: When lost in the city, take time to look at the walls and the footpaths—they might have cool graffiti art on them. People actually pay to go on graffiti tours you know. You could do your own graffiti tour, on the way to wherever you are going. (Where was I going again?)
Anyway, soak it all in, whatever’s on the way to wherever you are going. Because say you never actually find your destination. Not only will you have never got there, but you will have missed everything on the way. Who wants to live like that? I know I don’t.
Today’s activity: getting lost in Ushuaia. Did I have a good time walking around and around in circles? Of course I did. :)
Did you know...
...San Pedro de Attacama has the driest desert in the world?
The next day Brooke, Tony and I hired bicycles and rode out to the Valle de Luna (Moon Valley). We reached the valley by sunset, after Tony and I got ourselves incredibly lost for an hour and forty minutes crawling through underground tunnels and caves (that is a completely separate story. I thought we might bump into Osama Bin Laden in our underground adventures, but nay, no such rendez vous took place…maybe our aussie accents scared him off. It’s remarkable how much the San Pedro caves resemble Taliban territory though, rather than a bunch of tourist caves. The ‘path’ was either a tunnel, that you had to crawl through on your belly with a headlight, or a line of dusty footprints that wound over jagged terrain. It felt as though we were entering Tom Robbin’s clockworks. Real explorers!). We watched a concoction of peaches and sugar boil up in the sky. Later, as the sun sunk lower, the ambrosial dessert of heaven magically transformed into an egg-white and apricot purée. We were the last to leave and we rode back to San Pedro in the dark.
As we rode back, I thought again about my fear of falling. I had stepped and leapt over numerous crevices in the caves. But sometimes I was so paralyzed with fear that I simply couldn’t do it, despite my brain ordering my legs to move. I’m not sure if I’ve already said this, but I’ve concluded that when you are so afraid of falling, ultimately you probably will, because the fear seeps down into your legs and either turns them into jelly, or into two stiff poles. And legs like that won’t carry you where you want to go or even hold you upright.
Back in San Pedro, we got tipsy on pisco sours and filled our bellies with hot food. I don’t remember a time when I had been as tired as I was that night. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was (Itay, Omri and Amir, please excuse my terrible Hebrew spelling) mahook. Gone.
The next day Brooke, Tony and I hired bicycles and rode out to the Valle de Luna (Moon Valley). We reached the valley by sunset, after Tony and I got ourselves incredibly lost for an hour and forty minutes crawling through underground tunnels and caves (that is a completely separate story. I thought we might bump into Osama Bin Laden in our underground adventures, but nay, no such rendez vous took place…maybe our aussie accents scared him off. It’s remarkable how much the San Pedro caves resemble Taliban territory though, rather than a bunch of tourist caves. The ‘path’ was either a tunnel, that you had to crawl through on your belly with a headlight, or a line of dusty footprints that wound over jagged terrain. It felt as though we were entering Tom Robbin’s clockworks. Real explorers!). We watched a concoction of peaches and sugar boil up in the sky. Later, as the sun sunk lower, the ambrosial dessert of heaven magically transformed into an egg-white and apricot purée. We were the last to leave and we rode back to San Pedro in the dark.
As we rode back, I thought again about my fear of falling. I had stepped and leapt over numerous crevices in the caves. But sometimes I was so paralyzed with fear that I simply couldn’t do it, despite my brain ordering my legs to move. I’m not sure if I’ve already said this, but I’ve concluded that when you are so afraid of falling, ultimately you probably will, because the fear seeps down into your legs and either turns them into jelly, or into two stiff poles. And legs like that won’t carry you where you want to go or even hold you upright.
Back in San Pedro, we got tipsy on pisco sours and filled our bellies with hot food. I don’t remember a time when I had been as tired as I was that night. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was (Itay, Omri and Amir, please excuse my terrible Hebrew spelling) mahook. Gone.
Star-gazing in San Pedro
The jeep ride to San Pedro was terrible, and cold. The only thing that kept me warm was my thick grey poncho and the small bottle of rum that I clutched underneath it, tiny sips from time to time keeping my belly defrosted.
Brooke, Tony and I went star-gazing. I saw my Andromeda (a princess in ancient Greek mythology, who when I was little I revered and wanted to be), with a chain wrapped across her chest in a Z shape, and her mother Casseopeia below her, seen in the shape of an M. I think she might be down on her hands and knees, pleading for Posseidon’s forgiveness, though it’s hard to tell. The story for those who don’t know it is that Casseopeia boasted her daughter’s great beauty to Posseidon, God of the sea, who as punishment for her vanity (no mortals can be as beautiful as the divinities) forced her to sacrifice her daughter by having her chained on a cliff face above the ocean, to be devoured by a great sea monster. Luckily Andromeda was rescued by Perseus, flying past on a winged horse with the head of Medusa in his grip, so hideous that the sea serpent was turned to stone. It was my favourite Greek myth when I was little. And there they all are, immortalised forever for the rest of time, in the sky.
I saw what looked like a star on fire, though apparently the star looks ablaze because the heat and the cold in the atmosphere mixes and creates a mirage. Or something like that.
Did you know that we see the same stars that the ancient Egyptians saw? Isn’t that fascinating?
I also learnt that the furthest galaxy astronomers have been able to see is thirteen billion light years away. It’s so hard to comprehend. Once upon a time, when it was believed that the earth was flat, it was also believed that there was just one galaxy, the one we are in.
We listened to a talk by a very passionate French astronomer, over hot chocolate. We asked a lot of questions (does planet X exist? Is the universe really expanding? What is dark energy?) and went outside again to look through the telescopes. Words can’t really describe the ethereal beauty of the star clusters. Some of them formed recognizable shapes, like a spider or a dove. I identified a G-String. I don’t think the Egyptians would have mapped that one as an official constellation somehow. We all got a good laugh and had fun playing with the astronomer’s laser beam. On a serious note though, I realized that night how much time we spend busily going about our lives minding our own earthly business. We could continue this way or we could look up every now and again and ponder what is up there. There’s no harm in a curious mind.
That’s all for this entry. See you on Mars?
Brooke, Tony and I went star-gazing. I saw my Andromeda (a princess in ancient Greek mythology, who when I was little I revered and wanted to be), with a chain wrapped across her chest in a Z shape, and her mother Casseopeia below her, seen in the shape of an M. I think she might be down on her hands and knees, pleading for Posseidon’s forgiveness, though it’s hard to tell. The story for those who don’t know it is that Casseopeia boasted her daughter’s great beauty to Posseidon, God of the sea, who as punishment for her vanity (no mortals can be as beautiful as the divinities) forced her to sacrifice her daughter by having her chained on a cliff face above the ocean, to be devoured by a great sea monster. Luckily Andromeda was rescued by Perseus, flying past on a winged horse with the head of Medusa in his grip, so hideous that the sea serpent was turned to stone. It was my favourite Greek myth when I was little. And there they all are, immortalised forever for the rest of time, in the sky.
I saw what looked like a star on fire, though apparently the star looks ablaze because the heat and the cold in the atmosphere mixes and creates a mirage. Or something like that.
Did you know that we see the same stars that the ancient Egyptians saw? Isn’t that fascinating?
I also learnt that the furthest galaxy astronomers have been able to see is thirteen billion light years away. It’s so hard to comprehend. Once upon a time, when it was believed that the earth was flat, it was also believed that there was just one galaxy, the one we are in.
We listened to a talk by a very passionate French astronomer, over hot chocolate. We asked a lot of questions (does planet X exist? Is the universe really expanding? What is dark energy?) and went outside again to look through the telescopes. Words can’t really describe the ethereal beauty of the star clusters. Some of them formed recognizable shapes, like a spider or a dove. I identified a G-String. I don’t think the Egyptians would have mapped that one as an official constellation somehow. We all got a good laugh and had fun playing with the astronomer’s laser beam. On a serious note though, I realized that night how much time we spend busily going about our lives minding our own earthly business. We could continue this way or we could look up every now and again and ponder what is up there. There’s no harm in a curious mind.
That’s all for this entry. See you on Mars?
jueves, 17 de diciembre de 2009
Uyuni to San Pedro
I thought later about the surrealism of long bus rides during the night. Looking out the window, I couldn't tell the stars from city lights, nor could I tell snow from salt, because the hole in my belly had swallowed my weary consciousness, and the hole in my weary consciousness had swallowed my sense of reality.
The salt flats in Bolivia are the biggest salt flats in the world. The surface of the earth is a crust of salt that spreads as far as the eye can see. It's whiteness and dreaminess inspired me to write a little poem:
I found a place
to cast a net
and fish for dreams
of cloud, or lace
and race across
this lovers' land
a wedding dress
of silver frost
Back in the township of Uyuni I took a wander around the streets, taking myself away from the main tourist drag for a little bit. I found myself in a school zone, just as school had ended for the day and the streets were swarming with children in uniform. The older ones wore gloomy or indifferent looks on their faces and dragged their feet, in groups of three or four, clutching their books, the girls twirling their hair and giggling behind girly magazines. The younger girls skipped along the footpath holding the hand of a parent or older sibling, with sparkly pink barbie backpacks, still young enough to have a bounce in her step at the end of the school day. A lot of the kids had cold popsicles. I suddenly had a pang of nostalgia, remembering the times when I'd get home from school in the summer months, very tired, throw my backpack down in the livingroom and head straight to the freezer to see if there were any iceblocks left. Remember those packs of long icypoles in different colours and flavours? There was lime, and strawberry, blackcurrant, lemonade...
How hard and long, and yet in hindsight how incredibly easy, those days of being a young kid were. The last time I had felt this nostalgic for my childhood was not long ago, when I was taking a walk in the Bolivian pampas. I had picked a mushroom and was transported immediately back to the time I truly believed in fairies.
Is that what travelling does? Does it draw into a dark, quiet closet of childhood dreams, packed to the top shelf with fairies and elves, daisy chains, Robin Hood bows and arrows, dark and dangerous forests, dragons, hidden treasures, and all those memories of being small - brushing close to your skin as you crouch in that closest - whispering in your ear things that suspend all belief?
Is it something to do with being small again in a big world? Or being an explorer as you were when you were a child, only the space under the dining table is now Argentina or Chile, the broom closet an entire city, backyard fence now stretched further to become national borders and coastlines?
Or maybe, when you are travelling, you just have a lot more time to think.
To be continued
The night bus to Uyuni
Salar de Uyuni was my next destination, in the southwest Bolivian altiplano. I found the township of Uyuni to be a strange, almost eery place, and extremely quiet. The main street is wide and long, with few people or cars. It felt as though nothing had happened there for hundreds of years; the place had an expectant feeling, an air of anticipation. In the evening, the sun spilled pink all across the sky. The roads and pavement shone white. Everything white and pink like a bag of marshmallows. It was a spectacular scene.
The road from La Paz to Uyuni was long and uncomfortable. I read 'The City of Thieves' by David Benioff until my eyes couldn't stay open. However the road was very rough and the jerkiness of the bus wouldn't allow me the luxury of sleep. I had twelve hours to close my eyes and think.
A few hours earlier at the bus station, Brooke and I had bought an elderly beggar woman a packet of crackers, the main reason being that I didn't particularly want to give any more money. I had bought myself a packet of the same crackers, which I now nibbled on in the bus. I realised they tasted terrible, and subsequently felt extremely guilty for not giving her a couple of bolivianos with which she could have bought a plate of tasty rice or papas rellenas on the street with.
I was thinking about food because I had forgotten to eat dinner before getting on the bus and now my tummy was grumbling . The only food I had with me was that terrible packet of biscuits, which I couldn't bring myself to eat, despite my hunger. So I placed myself in Benioff's novel - wartorn, World War II Russia, closed off and starved by the Germans, and I imagined that I had been eating biscuits made from the saw-dust swept up from the floors of the steelworks, and that I had been eating this way for the last four months, and that this was the first real cracker I had tasted since before the war. Suddenly, it actually tasted quite good, and I ate half the packet.
I found myself drifting in and out of sleep. At one point, I wiped the condensation from the window and saw what I thought was a large town settled on the side of the mountain, its city lights twinkling brightly. After some time of gazing dreamily at this mountainside city, I suddenly realised that it was not in fact a city, but a dark sky full of stars. I must have been dreaming of La Paz. The windows fogged over again and the stars began to look like specks of white chalk on a blackboard sky.
When I next woke, I looked out the window again and thought I could see drifts of snow on the ground. I wasn't entirely sure if it was snow, or salt. It was very cold, and I shivered most of the night, despite wearing a thick woollen poncho, a beanie and two pairs of woollen socks. I slept for a short time I think, and I didn't wake up again until the sky had lightened and we had arrived at Uyuni.
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