Castro (Chiloé Island), CHILE - 21 january 2003
Chiloé is an island off Puerto Montt, 50 km by 200 km, with a distinct culture compared to the rest of Chile. It has undulating green hills, peppered with sheep and cattle and it rains and rains.
The unique thing about Chiloé are the many churches made of wood. In fact, the entire island is dotted with colourful wooden houses. The walls of the houses have what I called ‘fish-scales’ designs as pieces of wood are laid side by side across the wall and then, another section on top would overlap the bottom section a little… like ‘fish-scales’. The traditional industry on this island is, naturally, fishing.
Very charming are the palofitos, which are wooden houses on stilts built along the banks of rivers.
And the locals here are superbly friendly. Just a few steps from the hospedaje (some locals offer accommodations in their houses) where I was staying, I was already bouncing ‘holas’ [hello] with nearly everyone I passed. I seemed a somewhat curious sight for many did double-takes when they spotted me and then, huge smiles emerged.
One comes to Chiloé Island to relax, soak in the charm, admire the wooden churches and houses, walk around doing nothing, enjoy the seafood. I call this place a hibernating spot.
I bought a scarf. Why did she buy a scarf now that she had left Patagonia and was heading to the northern desert? Well, it WAS a very pretty scarf.
Parque Nacional Chiloé (Chiloé Island), CHILE - 22 january 2003
Castro is on the east side of the island, facing the sheltered channels. I crossed to the west side of Chiloé to Cucao to visit the Parque Nacional Chiloé. There was a path that led one to the beach.
I made my way there, climbed up a sand-dune and my pulse quickened as I anticipated the sight I would see. Yes, my first proper sighting of the Pacific Ocean on this trip. It looked magnificent. It had seven or eight layers of foamy waves crashing towards the empty beach. In the distance on one side, the rocky headlands looked misty and mysterious. On the other side of the beach, I could barely make out what it was for the beach seemed to stretch forever.
Well, I had indeed hauled myself across the world to see this side of the Pacific Ocean. In a way, the Pacific Ocean, although still a third of the world away, seriously meant I was on my way home. This was the last hurdle to cross to get home and complete my year of travelling. Frankly, I did not want to cross it.
I sat on a log at the beach, ate my lunch, observed the oyster-catchers, seagulls and other birds and pondered for a long time.
The next path took me to the interesting forest of the national park - the Tepaul. Because of the humidity here, the forest was absolutely impenetrable. Tree trunks were covered in ferns. Fallen trees criss-crossed the entire forest. The soil was entirely grown with moss. Gosh, all national parks are different.
One really could not say, “Oh, I have been to this one. There is no need to go to the other one.” No, they are all different. Of course, one could not visit ALL the national parks. I just appreciated each and every of them for its own characteristics.
Dalcahue (Chiloe Island), CHILE - 23 january 2003
I made my way to another charming little town nearby, Dalcahue. It was a smaller town than Castro and had more of the colourful wooden houses and fishing boats. Facing the town on an island off Dalcahue was another town, Achao, which I was recommended to visit.
I took a bus out there but apparently got off at the wrong town for later, when I returned, I saw a sign that read ‘Dalcahue’ with an arrow to the left and ‘Achao’ with an arrow to the right. Ooops.
Still, Achao or not, it was fine by me. It also had a simple, tranquil charm. And it was smelly too, for it had a fishing industry as well. I saw bales and bales of fishing nets laid out by the beach. There were scores of black-necked swans bobbing on the sea too. What a pleasant surprise. I last saw them in the ecological reserve in Buenos Aires. They looked really regal.
Then, I spotted a sign ‘OSTRAS’ (Oysters). Back home, oysters are so-called ‘luxury’ food items and here, they were rather cheap. Each was the size of half my palm. I happily gobbled up two.
Castro (Chiloé Island) to Villarrica, CHILE - 24 january 2003
The Chile-Argentina Spanish guide-book I bought had been terrible. I only used it now and then to improve my vocabulary. I was told restaurants that had been closed for SIX years still appeared in the guide-book.
So, without consulting it anymore (it would not have advised me anyway), I was under the misguided notion that Villarrica which I was heading next was merely 2 hours or so from Puerto Montt which was 4 hours from Castro. Nononono… It was a whooping 12 hours away from Castro. If I had known, I would have taken the night bus.
Hence, I spent the entire day on the bus to Temuco, 10 hours away, before changing to another bus to Villarrica. I also now learnt that Chilean buses did not stop for lunch.
Upon arrival, although still unfed since morning, I was excited to see Volcán Villarrica. I headed out to Lago Villarrica. The entire sky was cloudy. I asked a local where the volcano was and he pointed to the clouds. Right.
Friday, January 24, 2003
Monday, January 20, 2003
21 - (Nearly) Gone with the Wind (Puerto Natales, Chilean Fjords)
Puerto Natales, CHILE - 15 january 2003
Thigh muscles or no, they remained covered up, tucked behind, layered in the cold and windy Puerto Natales. But after the wind in Torres del Paine, nonono… I shall not complain about the wind in Puerto Natales.
My pants, unwashed since a few weeks before I left Buenos Aires, could probably stand on their own now. My socks… dare I admit they are mine? I left them to the professionals.
I had some leftover bread from my hike. I remembered there were many stray dogs all over Puerto Natales, hiding from the wind and searching for food-scraps. I would feed them with my bread. But it was always the case, wasn’t it? Now, armed with bread, I could not find the dogs.
Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt, CHILE - 16 january 2003
I made another attempt covering more blocks to find the famished dogs and managed to toss the bread to some dogs today.
I would take the Navimag ferry this evening. It would be a three-night cruise through the Chilean fjords, arriving at Puerto Montt on Monday morning. Coincidentally, Koen and his girlfriend (who had skipped the Torres del Paine) would also be taking the same ferry. He had pointed out, “I heard it will be cold on the cruise.”
R-E-A-L-L-Y????? C-O-L-D in PATAGONIA?? Who would have imagined THAT???
We were told we could board by 9pm. But it was later dragged to 11:30pm. And finally, at 12:30am, we climbed onboard the ferry.
There was some mayhem at the storage area as a long truck had overturned. This was going to take a while…
We were all booked for Cabin ‘C’. ‘C’ for CONTAINER?, we feared. Nah, we had a little comfortable bed with curtains for privacy and a locker for our bag. Nice. We wondered if we would get a chance to dine at the captain’s table though.
I explored the ferry. Dining room was self-service and utilitarian, with plastic chairs and tables. No freaky chandeliers. No thick-woven Persian carpets. No Greek naked statues. No gold-guilded curved stairways. No stupid fountains. Wait, I was unable to locate the sun-deck, swimming pool and the mini golf-course.
A middle-aged tourist was verbally abusing a hapless crew-member and passing snide, sarcastic remarks. “Where’s my baggage?? Can I get it tonight? Tomorrow, maybe? This year??? Huh?? I WANT TO GET TO BED! Hey! Hey! That’s MY CABIN! What do YOU want?!!”
I re-entered my 22-man ‘C’ cabin and another middle-aged tourist asked me in a tired but worried tone, “Do you know WHEN we can get our baggage?”
Paradigm shift, geezers. Who is the one going to bed? You or your baggage? If you are here, the bed is here… GO TO BED!
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 17 january 2003
We awoke this morning and found that we were still tethered to Puerto Natales. We did not awake voluntarily. We had all slept early this morning but the breakfast announcement said that breakfast was only served between 8 and 9am. Just 1 hour. So, we all dragged ourselves up to chomp down some food, and headed back to bed.
We finally left at around 10+am. Gisela, the middle-aged tourist sleeping below me totally missed breakfast. She claimed she did not hear the announcement because of her GOOD ear-plugs. OK, another fancy-gear alert.
We passed by the narrowest strait today. The crew tried to get us all excited about it. This section was 80 metres wide and could only be attempted in daylight. It was thoroughly COLD and WET standing at the deck to witness this ‘memorable’ moment. We later passed by a glacier that came nearly down to the fjords too.
Somehow, I had expected the scenery to be with deeper fjords and more dramatic gorges, maybe even with ice-bergs floating around. But it was generally flattish and roundish green islands scattered here and there along the channels. Well, if you have watched ‘Titanic’, maybe having no ice-bergs around is a GOOD thing.
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 18 january 2003
Gisela’s alarm clock beeped for an eternity. Guess she did not want to miss breakfast today. But, what happens when you pitch a GOOD alarm clock against GOOD ear-plugs? The whole cabin woke up except the intended.
We passed by Puerto Eden today. This is a port-town with a population of about 200 people and their only contact with the outside world is via the Navimag ferries.
This bleak port-town, located in this icy-cold, wind-swept, forever rainy, impossible channels of the Chilean fjords contained the last few remaining people (about 10) of the Kawascar indigeneous race. It was so sad to hear that a particular human race was about to be extinct. Actually, there are several other races down south in Tierra del Fuego which are extinct or on the verge of disappearing too.
The Navimag ferries provide them with some supplies and take those in need of medical help to Puerto Natales or Puerto Montt. Many boats rowed out towards the ferry to meet us. With pattering rain on my face and my frozen nose about to fall off, I could only stand there in the rain and admire the resilience and adaptability of the people living out here.
Later, we passed by an abandoned rusty ship which had run aground 30 or 40 years ago. Again, this was another moment the crew got us all excited about. I stood inside by the window and waited for the rusty ship. Then, I got impatient and went out.
It was so easy to type ‘went out’ but it took a lot of force, heaving and shoving, to push the door open against the ferocious wind. I was out there for 20 seconds and had to force the door (the handle outside was barely held in place) open again. I re-entered clumsily and now looked like a soaked chicken.
We would cross the aptly named Golf de Penas (Gulf of Pains) tonight. This is the only section where we had to sail around a peninsula, across a gulf and then on open sea around the peninsula before heading back into the channels. This was the legendary bit of the cruise. The pukability meter would rank high tonight.
We were watching ‘The Matrix’ when IT began. The slow, continuous swaying of the boat, the special high-tech effects of the movie as we traversed through wormholes and into virtual reality and the ‘charm’ of Keanu Reeves, one got nauseous really quickly. Many left before the movie ended.
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 19 january 2003
There was a loud crash in the middle of the night and everyone woke up. The swaying and rocking had gotten worse through the night. Some people feared the worst. Gisela started to panic and demanded to know from a crew-member if a truck tied to the ferry had fallen down. No, it was probably much worse, dear. Then, she insisted that if there was a fire on the ferry, they MUST sound the alarm and let us know. OK, but if you continue to wear those GOOD ear-plugs…
By breakfast, I staggered, held onto beams and walls and made my way to the dining-room. A section of the ceiling was on the floor. All the tables and chairs were tied up. We were getting sandwiches today, nothing of the sumptuous breakfast we had had yesterday.
I looked out through the window. The entire view showed the sea one moment and then, the ship rocked to reveal the sky the next. I felt woozy and headed back to bed. Lying down, one seemed to cope better.
By lunch, in order not to let my new muscles waste away, I again made my way to the dining-room for some exercise. At one point, a surreal scene happened in front of me that seemed to be in slow-motion. It looked unreal. Tables skidded and people fell off their chairs. Food flew. Beets spattered. Oranges rolled. Beef-steaks slid across the room. Rice scattered. Even after it was over, I still could not register this scene properly. It felt like all of us were in orbit, floating around.
After lunch, I stared out of the window again and observed the waves. Everything indeed was in slow-motion. The swelling and troughing of the waves, the breaking of the waves, the spreading of the waves, the rocking of the ferry… everything took its time and appeared to be placid and peaceful. It was so surreal. But, now that they had fed me, maybe I should not be staring at the waves.
We finally re-entered the channels late afternoon.
Puerto Montt to Castro (Chiloé Island), CHILE - 20 january 2003
Miyako, a Japanese lady travelling alone, joined me at lunch again. She is very sweet and nice but we could not really communicate for her English was rather bad and my Japanese was limited to ‘Arigato’ and ‘Sayonara’. Half the time, she gave me blank looks and I was never sure if she understood what I was saying. Most of the time, she did not talk to me but when she did, she used sporadic words and some noises disguised as words and I usually did not understand her.
With her, came an elderly Japanese man surgically attached to his Sony digi-cam. This one spoke neither English nor Spanish.
With him, came another Japanese young guy who now lives in London. He could speak English but was rather shy and did not have much to say to me.
So, together, we formed ‘little Asia’ at the dining-room. As three of them chatted away in Japanese, nodded earnestly and took photographs, I ate up my lunch in silence. Next to me sat two Mexicans, conversing in Spanish. This was so funny. I looked like the Japanese but I could not understand a word. Yet, I could understand 80% of what the Mexicans were talking about and I very much wanted to join in their conversation. However, they were trying their best to ignore ‘little Asia’, especially Grandpa Sony who was filming his lunch for the third time.
We finally docked at Puerto Montt around 4pm. We bid farewells to those we got to know on the boat and everyone headed to the bus terminal to catch a bus out rightaway. I journeyed straight to Castro, a town in the middle of a nearby island, Chiloé. The rain pattered on…
Thigh muscles or no, they remained covered up, tucked behind, layered in the cold and windy Puerto Natales. But after the wind in Torres del Paine, nonono… I shall not complain about the wind in Puerto Natales.
My pants, unwashed since a few weeks before I left Buenos Aires, could probably stand on their own now. My socks… dare I admit they are mine? I left them to the professionals.
I had some leftover bread from my hike. I remembered there were many stray dogs all over Puerto Natales, hiding from the wind and searching for food-scraps. I would feed them with my bread. But it was always the case, wasn’t it? Now, armed with bread, I could not find the dogs.
Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt, CHILE - 16 january 2003
I made another attempt covering more blocks to find the famished dogs and managed to toss the bread to some dogs today.
I would take the Navimag ferry this evening. It would be a three-night cruise through the Chilean fjords, arriving at Puerto Montt on Monday morning. Coincidentally, Koen and his girlfriend (who had skipped the Torres del Paine) would also be taking the same ferry. He had pointed out, “I heard it will be cold on the cruise.”
R-E-A-L-L-Y????? C-O-L-D in PATAGONIA?? Who would have imagined THAT???
We were told we could board by 9pm. But it was later dragged to 11:30pm. And finally, at 12:30am, we climbed onboard the ferry.
There was some mayhem at the storage area as a long truck had overturned. This was going to take a while…
We were all booked for Cabin ‘C’. ‘C’ for CONTAINER?, we feared. Nah, we had a little comfortable bed with curtains for privacy and a locker for our bag. Nice. We wondered if we would get a chance to dine at the captain’s table though.
I explored the ferry. Dining room was self-service and utilitarian, with plastic chairs and tables. No freaky chandeliers. No thick-woven Persian carpets. No Greek naked statues. No gold-guilded curved stairways. No stupid fountains. Wait, I was unable to locate the sun-deck, swimming pool and the mini golf-course.
A middle-aged tourist was verbally abusing a hapless crew-member and passing snide, sarcastic remarks. “Where’s my baggage?? Can I get it tonight? Tomorrow, maybe? This year??? Huh?? I WANT TO GET TO BED! Hey! Hey! That’s MY CABIN! What do YOU want?!!”
I re-entered my 22-man ‘C’ cabin and another middle-aged tourist asked me in a tired but worried tone, “Do you know WHEN we can get our baggage?”
Paradigm shift, geezers. Who is the one going to bed? You or your baggage? If you are here, the bed is here… GO TO BED!
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 17 january 2003
We awoke this morning and found that we were still tethered to Puerto Natales. We did not awake voluntarily. We had all slept early this morning but the breakfast announcement said that breakfast was only served between 8 and 9am. Just 1 hour. So, we all dragged ourselves up to chomp down some food, and headed back to bed.
We finally left at around 10+am. Gisela, the middle-aged tourist sleeping below me totally missed breakfast. She claimed she did not hear the announcement because of her GOOD ear-plugs. OK, another fancy-gear alert.
We passed by the narrowest strait today. The crew tried to get us all excited about it. This section was 80 metres wide and could only be attempted in daylight. It was thoroughly COLD and WET standing at the deck to witness this ‘memorable’ moment. We later passed by a glacier that came nearly down to the fjords too.
Somehow, I had expected the scenery to be with deeper fjords and more dramatic gorges, maybe even with ice-bergs floating around. But it was generally flattish and roundish green islands scattered here and there along the channels. Well, if you have watched ‘Titanic’, maybe having no ice-bergs around is a GOOD thing.
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 18 january 2003
Gisela’s alarm clock beeped for an eternity. Guess she did not want to miss breakfast today. But, what happens when you pitch a GOOD alarm clock against GOOD ear-plugs? The whole cabin woke up except the intended.
We passed by Puerto Eden today. This is a port-town with a population of about 200 people and their only contact with the outside world is via the Navimag ferries.
This bleak port-town, located in this icy-cold, wind-swept, forever rainy, impossible channels of the Chilean fjords contained the last few remaining people (about 10) of the Kawascar indigeneous race. It was so sad to hear that a particular human race was about to be extinct. Actually, there are several other races down south in Tierra del Fuego which are extinct or on the verge of disappearing too.
The Navimag ferries provide them with some supplies and take those in need of medical help to Puerto Natales or Puerto Montt. Many boats rowed out towards the ferry to meet us. With pattering rain on my face and my frozen nose about to fall off, I could only stand there in the rain and admire the resilience and adaptability of the people living out here.
Later, we passed by an abandoned rusty ship which had run aground 30 or 40 years ago. Again, this was another moment the crew got us all excited about. I stood inside by the window and waited for the rusty ship. Then, I got impatient and went out.
It was so easy to type ‘went out’ but it took a lot of force, heaving and shoving, to push the door open against the ferocious wind. I was out there for 20 seconds and had to force the door (the handle outside was barely held in place) open again. I re-entered clumsily and now looked like a soaked chicken.
We would cross the aptly named Golf de Penas (Gulf of Pains) tonight. This is the only section where we had to sail around a peninsula, across a gulf and then on open sea around the peninsula before heading back into the channels. This was the legendary bit of the cruise. The pukability meter would rank high tonight.
We were watching ‘The Matrix’ when IT began. The slow, continuous swaying of the boat, the special high-tech effects of the movie as we traversed through wormholes and into virtual reality and the ‘charm’ of Keanu Reeves, one got nauseous really quickly. Many left before the movie ended.
To Puerto Montt, CHILE - 19 january 2003
There was a loud crash in the middle of the night and everyone woke up. The swaying and rocking had gotten worse through the night. Some people feared the worst. Gisela started to panic and demanded to know from a crew-member if a truck tied to the ferry had fallen down. No, it was probably much worse, dear. Then, she insisted that if there was a fire on the ferry, they MUST sound the alarm and let us know. OK, but if you continue to wear those GOOD ear-plugs…
By breakfast, I staggered, held onto beams and walls and made my way to the dining-room. A section of the ceiling was on the floor. All the tables and chairs were tied up. We were getting sandwiches today, nothing of the sumptuous breakfast we had had yesterday.
I looked out through the window. The entire view showed the sea one moment and then, the ship rocked to reveal the sky the next. I felt woozy and headed back to bed. Lying down, one seemed to cope better.
By lunch, in order not to let my new muscles waste away, I again made my way to the dining-room for some exercise. At one point, a surreal scene happened in front of me that seemed to be in slow-motion. It looked unreal. Tables skidded and people fell off their chairs. Food flew. Beets spattered. Oranges rolled. Beef-steaks slid across the room. Rice scattered. Even after it was over, I still could not register this scene properly. It felt like all of us were in orbit, floating around.
After lunch, I stared out of the window again and observed the waves. Everything indeed was in slow-motion. The swelling and troughing of the waves, the breaking of the waves, the spreading of the waves, the rocking of the ferry… everything took its time and appeared to be placid and peaceful. It was so surreal. But, now that they had fed me, maybe I should not be staring at the waves.
We finally re-entered the channels late afternoon.
Puerto Montt to Castro (Chiloé Island), CHILE - 20 january 2003
Miyako, a Japanese lady travelling alone, joined me at lunch again. She is very sweet and nice but we could not really communicate for her English was rather bad and my Japanese was limited to ‘Arigato’ and ‘Sayonara’. Half the time, she gave me blank looks and I was never sure if she understood what I was saying. Most of the time, she did not talk to me but when she did, she used sporadic words and some noises disguised as words and I usually did not understand her.
With her, came an elderly Japanese man surgically attached to his Sony digi-cam. This one spoke neither English nor Spanish.
With him, came another Japanese young guy who now lives in London. He could speak English but was rather shy and did not have much to say to me.
So, together, we formed ‘little Asia’ at the dining-room. As three of them chatted away in Japanese, nodded earnestly and took photographs, I ate up my lunch in silence. Next to me sat two Mexicans, conversing in Spanish. This was so funny. I looked like the Japanese but I could not understand a word. Yet, I could understand 80% of what the Mexicans were talking about and I very much wanted to join in their conversation. However, they were trying their best to ignore ‘little Asia’, especially Grandpa Sony who was filming his lunch for the third time.
We finally docked at Puerto Montt around 4pm. We bid farewells to those we got to know on the boat and everyone headed to the bus terminal to catch a bus out rightaway. I journeyed straight to Castro, a town in the middle of a nearby island, Chiloé. The rain pattered on…
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
21 - (Nearly) Gone with the Wind (Parque Nacional Torres del Paine)
Puerto Natales to Torres del Paine, CHILE - 10 january 2003
I would be attempting to do the ‘W’ circuit of Torres del Paine. Allow me to elaborate a little on the ‘W’ circuit.
Starting from right to left of the alphabet ‘W’, the first vertical section up is to view the three famous towering, near-vertical mountains that give the name Torres del Paine the ‘Torres’ bit for they are called Las Torres [The Towers]. This would be, to many, the HIGHLIGHT of their hike here.
Then, one heads west, walking the horizontal bit of the ‘W’. After that, the second vertical section is along Valle de Francés, where one could see beautiful ranges of mountains, including the unique-looking Los Cuernos [The Horns].
Finally, after heading west again and up to the third vertical section of ‘W’, one can see the impressive Glacier Grey. At the bottom of this third vertical section is Refugio Pehoe where one can take a boat ride back to Refugio Pudeto to catch a bus back to Puerto Natales.
As for me, I had no idea which portion I could complete. I just told myself, I would do as much as I could. I knew I had to haul myself to the Refugio Pehoe eventually. That was the promise I made to myself. Hey, this was a vacation for me. Not a race. Not an expedition. I was not one of those Goretex-attired-SuperHikers-on-steroids. I did not need to over-achieve. Just stay alive.
Somehow, three of us single hikers, Koen from Netherlands, Angela from Brazil and I, met on the bus, pitched our tents nearby one another and seemed to have a tacit agreement to try and do the Las Torres section together today.
We were on the wrong track 10 minutes into the trail as we appeared to be heading towards Los Cuernos instead. We had to retrace our steps and follow others heading up a gravel slope. I had been warned that the first 2 hours of this trail was difficult, uphill all the way. We made our way up slowly. I eyed each orange-marked pole as a finishing line, personally congratulating myself whenever I crossed one.
It was slow plodding uphill. I guess the scary thing about Torre del Paine was the WIND. So many times, especially when I had one foot in the air, about to take a step, I would be blown off-track and would stumble off the trail. Then, it got worse as I literally felt like I was being blown away, even with two feet on the ground. After each sudden gust, I ended up standing on tip-toe and flailing my arms around to try to return my heels back to Earth! My jacket flapped around noisily. I felt like a kite, barely held down by the invisible string of gravity and I did not have much confidence in gravity anymore.
We all walked at an angle against the wind. But suddenly, the wind would stop and we would stumble forward in surprise. Good thing we did not fall flat on our faces. Little grains of sand were blown into our eyes all the time. Sometimes, it was best NOT to fight the wind and to just stand there, balance ourselves, have our faces turned away from the flying grains, and wait for the wind to stop.
Upon reaching Refugio Chileno, we had a brief stop and looked up ahead. Las Torres were heavily shrouded in clouds in the background. Koen, Angela and I merely rested half an hour before heading up the next section.
Ooo, fancy-gear alert! Koen had a straw-filter thingie which he could place it in the river and suck up water through it, filtering the water right there and then. If you ask me, why filter glacial water? I joked with him that the straw probably contaminated the water!
This section was easier through sheltered woods and some exposed rocky plains. Still, the wind was relentless. My fingers felt numb from the wind. It did not help that it started to snow and rain hailstones as well.
By the final section, the sign read ‘45 MINUTOS’ to the Mirador. How could anyone turn back now? This was the most difficult part of the trek today as there was a lot of scrambling up rocks which were unsheltered from the woods. Normally, one might rock-hop. But here, imagine, you have one foot on one rock and about to leap to the next and then, a strong gust of wind (here, it might reach more than 100kms/hr, I read) from any direction, arrives, you either crash backwards and crack your skull… or you pitch forward and crack your skull. Either way, you become veggie… if you are lucky.
I tried to keep my centre of gravity low but I could not duck-walk my way up to Las Torres. I crouched forward and kept my hands in front to ensure that I had some cushioning effect. A few times, I was indeed blown against some huge boulders suddenly and barely prevented being a nasty crash-test-dummy subject.
Finally, at the top, pantingly, I looked up and saw… POETRY. Las Torres stood there, waiting for me, and had commanded the clouds to disappear on time. I could not believe the stunning sight before me. The grandeur of it all was surreal. I was speechless. My eyes smarted with tears. (I am getting so emotional now, I know.) I gaped with my jaws open. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” was all I could utter as I stumbled around the remaining rocks. I made eye contact with a few people up there and everyone just grinned and nodded. We made it. It was tremendously awe-inspiring.
I guess, for Mount Fitzroy, throughout the hike, one could see it. One was just getting closer and closer to it. But Las Torres remained half-hidden or totally out-of-sight the entire hike, revealing themselves only to those who made it this far. So, the reward was greater, more mind-blowing. I tottered around at the pass as the wind whipped me around like a rag-doll.
Koen was making his lunch there in a so-called ‘sheltered’ place. I joined him. I could not tear my eyes away from Las Torres. It was snowing all around me. Las Torres are so steep no snow stuck to them. This was the second time I had seen falling snow in my life. Oh, what a special moment!
Too bad I could not stay up there for long because of the wind. My fingers were numblingly ice-cold. I was wearing two fleece jackets and a wind-breaker and yet I was shivering and my teeth were chattering away.
Some people do the ‘W’ circuit from left to right, leaving Las Torres at the end, calling it ‘Saving the BEST for LAST’. For me, not knowing which day of my trek I might perish in Torres del Paine, it was better to save the BEST for FIRST, just to be sure.
We finally returned to our camp-site by 8pm. My tent and Angela’s had been devastated by the wind. Koen’s still stood upright though.
When I studied the wreckage, I realised the savage wind had snapped two of my poles at the pole-connectors! Gosh! Duct-tape, please.
Cooking dinner was an ordeal. I placed a rock on top of the lid of my pot to prevent the lid from flying. The wind still managed to lift the rock and sweep the lid into the far distance. The rock then plunged into my pot of rice.
My tent was higher on one end, enough height for a person to sit and then it tapered down at the other end. I was sleeping with my head at the higher end and yet that night, the wind blew my tent so low, I was kissing it. No kidding.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 11 january 2003
The first hour or so of the hike today was pretty easy, on flattish plains. But I did not appreciate it then, for I was constantly struggling with and thinking about my full backpack.
We came upon the turqoise-coloured Lake Nordenskjold. It looked so calm and perfect. We took a moment to savour the amazing view before plodding off. Another hour passed before I found an excellent spot under some incredible mountains for a bite of lunch.
As I knew my limitations, whenever I heard noises behind me, I stopped to let the other hikers pass. Everyone overtook me. I overtook no one. It was a nice and peaceful walk along the trails, getting used to my backpack… until we came upon a cascade.
Everyone stopped and puzzled over it. There MUST be a simple way to hop across it. Several headed further up or down the bank to analyse the rocks. Nope, no way out… boots off!
I placed my bare feet in the glacial-cold running water. Gosh, the water forces were strong and the rocks slippery. Again, I realised I could not just walk across the cascade for my centre of gravity was high and any mis-step might tumble me down the river. I decided to crouch low and keep one hand on the boulders with the rushing cold water as I crab-walked my way across.
I numbed my mind and tried not to think of the tiredness, the wobbly legs, the burden behind me. I just focused on the next section of the path I could see before me and targetted at getting there. I kept looking out for a peninsula at the lake, for, from the map, I knew if I passed it, I would have about 1 more hour of walking to get to Refugio Los Cuernos.
Indeed, I finally spotted the peninsula and took another breather there to appreciate the lake before me. The lake appeared to be less calm now, compared to earlier. I saw countless waves generating from the centre of the lake.
I grew really tired. I knew I had to keep it all mental. It was all up here in my head. Just keep telling myself that I could do it and I would be able to do it. I walked slowly around bends of mountains, across shrublands, up and down slopes. I kept my head down most of the time to try and concentrate on conquering each section of the trail.
Suddenly, for no reason, I looked up and gasped. I was nearly floored by the majestically silent Los Cuernos. For how long they had been looking upon me, I had no idea.
This range of mountains was as impressive as Las Torres but more unique. The mountains had three sections of colours. The top and bottom sections are black: sedimentary rocks. The middle section is grey: granite. One fine day, a couple of years (at least) ago, the granite came and thrust up through the sedimentary rock, taking the top bit along. And so, Los Cuernos exist to quicken your pulse-beats just a little. Really Impressive!
The going got tougher after this. The wind was getting more savage and vicious. Once, with my full backpack of tent, sleeping bag, 4 days’ of food, and BOTH feet on the ground, I was blown two inches off towards the drop-off and it was a STEEP drop-off! I was spooked and many cuss words flew.
Many times, I would tumble into bushes or fall on rocks suddenly because of the tossing wind. The lake was perhaps 100 to 150 metres below us and yet, when the wind whipped up the water, I could literally see the sprays fly and twist up from the lake like a tornado and coming down on us as rain.
I was so desperate even ONE SKINNY TREE was considered as a shelter. Whenever I could feel, hear or see the wind coming, I tried to get myself to one of these ‘shelters’. Sometimes, it was not possible and I just had to try and maintain my balance desperately. I was alone and I did not fancy being blown backwards and landing on my backpack, like a turn-turtle for no one would be able to help me! I muttered some Buddhist prayers during these moments.
Oftentimes, around a bend, downslope, on a slippery rocky path, with wobbly legs, I had to wait for the wind to die down momentarily and psyche myself to make the walk round the bend quickly, without being blown off into the abyss. “OK, now! Go!”
Finally, I arrived at Refugio Los Cuernos just as it started to pour. Gosh, at the refugio, even full-grown men were complaining about being blown off the trails! I met up with Koen who had been there for an hour and Angela who arrived just a little after me. Koen left soon in the rain. Angela and I busied ourselves resting.
We left after a while with two Israeli guys. I had put a rain-cover on my backpack to protect it from the rain but I had actually inadvertently just converted my backpack into a SAIL. The wind caught the rain-cover and unable to blow right through, took me along and tossed me repeatedly. It was worse at one section as we were right on the beach, next to the lake. I had to remove it in the end.
The last 2 hours were the toughest for me. Hurben, the guy at my hostel, had pointed out, “You can camp at Refugio Los Cuernos or you can walk a bit more to Camp Italiano, free camping.” A BIT MORE, my foot!! It felt like an eternity! There was a lot more uphill on this section and after so many hours of walking and fighting against the wind, it was not appreciated at all.
I was actually very glad that the two Israeli guys were kind enough to wait for Angela and I and help us along the route, giving us a hand at the steeper portions. I guess, by then, I was quite used to the weight of the backpack and did not think about it anymore. I just concentrated on worrying about the wind.
I finally staggered, into Camp Italiano at 8pm, extremely fatigued… but incredibly relieved. Koen had to help me with my tent for I was just staring into space like a veggie.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 12 january 2003
It was only today that I took a good look around Camp Italiano and had to agree that this was a great campsite. It was very sheltered, the wind was not as bad as the first campsite. There was a beautiful rushing river in front of us. Behind us were the incredible Los Cuernos. Wonderful locale.
Lots of people at the campsite were now complaining of sore backs, busted knees and twisted ankles. Maybe Torres del Paine is a mis-print. It should have been Torres del PAIN.
Koen and I took an early slow walk up through the Valle de Francés. There was a stunning snow-covered mountain with melting glacier right next to the path. Hence, there were magnificent views throughout as we meandered next to the river on the rocks or through the forests to try and get behind this mountain.
After about 3 hours, we finally arrived at the Mirador. Surrounding us, nearly 300 degrees of view, was a near-continuous range of extra-ordinary mountains. I spun slowly clock-wise, soaking in the amazing view. It was a symphony. What a reward!
There was not much room at the Mirador and when it started to fill up with people, we made our descent.
Now, suddenly, my busted left knee just would not cooperate with me. It was painful to bend it. I had probably twisted it when I was blown around yesterday. It was very, very difficult for me to walk down the valley now. I tried to keep my knee straight as far as possible. I cringed in pain whenever I bent it.
It took me forever to arrive back at the campsite. I had wanted to go on to Refugio Pehoe today, which was reportedly 2½ hours away but Koen suggested I should rest today. Yeah, it had been like a race the last two days, hurrying to the towers and back and then, too windy and freezing cold to enjoy dinner and yesterday… need I say more? This was a holiday for us. Hooray Hooray, it’s a holi-holiday, we reminded ourselves.
We stayed one more night at this great campsite, made tea, cooked dinner, chatted with other hikers. It was a very pleasant evening.
Then, it rained.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 13 january 2003
It was still raining and rather windy this morning. I got up to pee. Koen, who had wanted to catch the 10am boat from Refugio Pehoe, said he would leave at 8am this morning. I looked. Indeed, his tent was gone. I returned to my tent and made breakfast. Then, with nothing else to do, I returned to sleep.
I woke up at around 1pm and listened. It was still pattering away quietly but there was NO WIND. I peeped out. Several tents were gone now. I knew I had to take advantage of the lack of wind to pack. For if it was windy and I was alone, it would be difficult to pack the tent.
I shoved everything into my backpack in half an hour’s time and left in the rain. The route was muddy and slippery. I realised I still had a little phobia of the wind. But this route was just through undulating, gentle hills and swampy places with board-walks. Nothing as tough as Day 2.
2½ shivering-cold hours of walking in the cold rain with numb fingers and muddy wet boots was just about enough for today. The minute I arrived at Refugio Pehoe, I knew I was not going anywhere anymore. I found a sheltered spot and hurriedly pitched my tent.
Just when I finished it, I realised hoards of tourists, many on guided trips, were arriving at that moment and there was a mad scramble for camping spots. Where did they all come from?
A group of French tourists on a guided trip hovered near my tent and envied my choice-spot. They then pitched their tents all around me. There was even a dining-room tent with tables and chairs inside.
The rain continued incessantly. Everything was wet and cold. After making dinner inside my tent, I just sat there and tried to keep warm while I waited for nightfall. Meanwhile, the French had their four-course dinner served, drank some Bordeaux wine and chatted about bonbons and champignons in the dining-room tent.
That night, I wore my two fleece jackets to sleep. I felt very warm and claustrophobic. In fact, I felt as if I was perspiring profusely. Yet, I was shivering non-stop. WHY? I do not understand COLD! Beam me back to Brazil, Scottie.
Torres del Paine to Puerto Natales, CHILE - 14 january 2003
After nearly 24 hours of rain, I woke up to a beautiful blue sky and a bright sunny day. I even found 5000 Chilean Pesos (about US$7) near my tent. Some discerning readers might think I lost that 5000 Pesos myself last evening. But I could account for all of my pesos. It might be the 5000 Pesos I used to pay for the campsite (3000 Pesos). If so, the guy collecting the payment lost it. Or it might be dropped by one of the French tourists. Viva la France.
It was actually great weather for hiking today. But I just had no inclination to do the last bit to see Glacier Grey. I was exhausted. I had already achieved beyond my wildest expectation and lived to see Refugio Pehoe.
Taking advantage of the bright clear sky, I knew there would be a great view on the boat-ride to Refugio Pudeto and quickly took the 10am boat. Ah, just as I had hoped, Los Cuernos, seen from various angles, remained just as majestic and astounding.
A hiker was transported back on the same boat on a stretcher and in a neck-brace.
Sheesh… Having a neck-brace meant she did not just trip over a rock and fall. She FELL a large distance, probably tumbling down a mountain, I reckoned. The wind… It was indeed dangerous.
I stayed on at Refugio Pudeto until 2:30pm for my bus back to Puerto Natales. There was another boat leaving from Refugio Pehoe at 12:30pm which, by right, I could catch it and still be in time for my bus. But, guess what? By 12:30pm, the entire sky had turned cloudy and there was not a stitch of blue left in the sky. Los Cuernos was lost in the clouds by then. I was lucky.
It started to rain again after I got on my bus. The weather changed so quickly here. I had wanted to take a picture of a guanaco during my hike. I had seen several of them on the bus ride coming into Torres del Paine and now, on the ride out, I spotted them again. Guess they did not do the ‘W’ circuit.
Well, I was mighty pleased that I did the hike by myself and safely too. Can’t wait to rip off my pants and check out my new thigh muscles!
I would be attempting to do the ‘W’ circuit of Torres del Paine. Allow me to elaborate a little on the ‘W’ circuit.
Starting from right to left of the alphabet ‘W’, the first vertical section up is to view the three famous towering, near-vertical mountains that give the name Torres del Paine the ‘Torres’ bit for they are called Las Torres [The Towers]. This would be, to many, the HIGHLIGHT of their hike here.
Then, one heads west, walking the horizontal bit of the ‘W’. After that, the second vertical section is along Valle de Francés, where one could see beautiful ranges of mountains, including the unique-looking Los Cuernos [The Horns].
Finally, after heading west again and up to the third vertical section of ‘W’, one can see the impressive Glacier Grey. At the bottom of this third vertical section is Refugio Pehoe where one can take a boat ride back to Refugio Pudeto to catch a bus back to Puerto Natales.
As for me, I had no idea which portion I could complete. I just told myself, I would do as much as I could. I knew I had to haul myself to the Refugio Pehoe eventually. That was the promise I made to myself. Hey, this was a vacation for me. Not a race. Not an expedition. I was not one of those Goretex-attired-SuperHikers-on-steroids. I did not need to over-achieve. Just stay alive.
Somehow, three of us single hikers, Koen from Netherlands, Angela from Brazil and I, met on the bus, pitched our tents nearby one another and seemed to have a tacit agreement to try and do the Las Torres section together today.
We were on the wrong track 10 minutes into the trail as we appeared to be heading towards Los Cuernos instead. We had to retrace our steps and follow others heading up a gravel slope. I had been warned that the first 2 hours of this trail was difficult, uphill all the way. We made our way up slowly. I eyed each orange-marked pole as a finishing line, personally congratulating myself whenever I crossed one.
It was slow plodding uphill. I guess the scary thing about Torre del Paine was the WIND. So many times, especially when I had one foot in the air, about to take a step, I would be blown off-track and would stumble off the trail. Then, it got worse as I literally felt like I was being blown away, even with two feet on the ground. After each sudden gust, I ended up standing on tip-toe and flailing my arms around to try to return my heels back to Earth! My jacket flapped around noisily. I felt like a kite, barely held down by the invisible string of gravity and I did not have much confidence in gravity anymore.
We all walked at an angle against the wind. But suddenly, the wind would stop and we would stumble forward in surprise. Good thing we did not fall flat on our faces. Little grains of sand were blown into our eyes all the time. Sometimes, it was best NOT to fight the wind and to just stand there, balance ourselves, have our faces turned away from the flying grains, and wait for the wind to stop.
Upon reaching Refugio Chileno, we had a brief stop and looked up ahead. Las Torres were heavily shrouded in clouds in the background. Koen, Angela and I merely rested half an hour before heading up the next section.
Ooo, fancy-gear alert! Koen had a straw-filter thingie which he could place it in the river and suck up water through it, filtering the water right there and then. If you ask me, why filter glacial water? I joked with him that the straw probably contaminated the water!
This section was easier through sheltered woods and some exposed rocky plains. Still, the wind was relentless. My fingers felt numb from the wind. It did not help that it started to snow and rain hailstones as well.
By the final section, the sign read ‘45 MINUTOS’ to the Mirador. How could anyone turn back now? This was the most difficult part of the trek today as there was a lot of scrambling up rocks which were unsheltered from the woods. Normally, one might rock-hop. But here, imagine, you have one foot on one rock and about to leap to the next and then, a strong gust of wind (here, it might reach more than 100kms/hr, I read) from any direction, arrives, you either crash backwards and crack your skull… or you pitch forward and crack your skull. Either way, you become veggie… if you are lucky.
I tried to keep my centre of gravity low but I could not duck-walk my way up to Las Torres. I crouched forward and kept my hands in front to ensure that I had some cushioning effect. A few times, I was indeed blown against some huge boulders suddenly and barely prevented being a nasty crash-test-dummy subject.
Finally, at the top, pantingly, I looked up and saw… POETRY. Las Torres stood there, waiting for me, and had commanded the clouds to disappear on time. I could not believe the stunning sight before me. The grandeur of it all was surreal. I was speechless. My eyes smarted with tears. (I am getting so emotional now, I know.) I gaped with my jaws open. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god…” was all I could utter as I stumbled around the remaining rocks. I made eye contact with a few people up there and everyone just grinned and nodded. We made it. It was tremendously awe-inspiring.
I guess, for Mount Fitzroy, throughout the hike, one could see it. One was just getting closer and closer to it. But Las Torres remained half-hidden or totally out-of-sight the entire hike, revealing themselves only to those who made it this far. So, the reward was greater, more mind-blowing. I tottered around at the pass as the wind whipped me around like a rag-doll.
Koen was making his lunch there in a so-called ‘sheltered’ place. I joined him. I could not tear my eyes away from Las Torres. It was snowing all around me. Las Torres are so steep no snow stuck to them. This was the second time I had seen falling snow in my life. Oh, what a special moment!
Too bad I could not stay up there for long because of the wind. My fingers were numblingly ice-cold. I was wearing two fleece jackets and a wind-breaker and yet I was shivering and my teeth were chattering away.
Some people do the ‘W’ circuit from left to right, leaving Las Torres at the end, calling it ‘Saving the BEST for LAST’. For me, not knowing which day of my trek I might perish in Torres del Paine, it was better to save the BEST for FIRST, just to be sure.
We finally returned to our camp-site by 8pm. My tent and Angela’s had been devastated by the wind. Koen’s still stood upright though.
When I studied the wreckage, I realised the savage wind had snapped two of my poles at the pole-connectors! Gosh! Duct-tape, please.
Cooking dinner was an ordeal. I placed a rock on top of the lid of my pot to prevent the lid from flying. The wind still managed to lift the rock and sweep the lid into the far distance. The rock then plunged into my pot of rice.
My tent was higher on one end, enough height for a person to sit and then it tapered down at the other end. I was sleeping with my head at the higher end and yet that night, the wind blew my tent so low, I was kissing it. No kidding.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 11 january 2003
The first hour or so of the hike today was pretty easy, on flattish plains. But I did not appreciate it then, for I was constantly struggling with and thinking about my full backpack.
We came upon the turqoise-coloured Lake Nordenskjold. It looked so calm and perfect. We took a moment to savour the amazing view before plodding off. Another hour passed before I found an excellent spot under some incredible mountains for a bite of lunch.
As I knew my limitations, whenever I heard noises behind me, I stopped to let the other hikers pass. Everyone overtook me. I overtook no one. It was a nice and peaceful walk along the trails, getting used to my backpack… until we came upon a cascade.
Everyone stopped and puzzled over it. There MUST be a simple way to hop across it. Several headed further up or down the bank to analyse the rocks. Nope, no way out… boots off!
I placed my bare feet in the glacial-cold running water. Gosh, the water forces were strong and the rocks slippery. Again, I realised I could not just walk across the cascade for my centre of gravity was high and any mis-step might tumble me down the river. I decided to crouch low and keep one hand on the boulders with the rushing cold water as I crab-walked my way across.
I numbed my mind and tried not to think of the tiredness, the wobbly legs, the burden behind me. I just focused on the next section of the path I could see before me and targetted at getting there. I kept looking out for a peninsula at the lake, for, from the map, I knew if I passed it, I would have about 1 more hour of walking to get to Refugio Los Cuernos.
Indeed, I finally spotted the peninsula and took another breather there to appreciate the lake before me. The lake appeared to be less calm now, compared to earlier. I saw countless waves generating from the centre of the lake.
I grew really tired. I knew I had to keep it all mental. It was all up here in my head. Just keep telling myself that I could do it and I would be able to do it. I walked slowly around bends of mountains, across shrublands, up and down slopes. I kept my head down most of the time to try and concentrate on conquering each section of the trail.
Suddenly, for no reason, I looked up and gasped. I was nearly floored by the majestically silent Los Cuernos. For how long they had been looking upon me, I had no idea.
This range of mountains was as impressive as Las Torres but more unique. The mountains had three sections of colours. The top and bottom sections are black: sedimentary rocks. The middle section is grey: granite. One fine day, a couple of years (at least) ago, the granite came and thrust up through the sedimentary rock, taking the top bit along. And so, Los Cuernos exist to quicken your pulse-beats just a little. Really Impressive!
The going got tougher after this. The wind was getting more savage and vicious. Once, with my full backpack of tent, sleeping bag, 4 days’ of food, and BOTH feet on the ground, I was blown two inches off towards the drop-off and it was a STEEP drop-off! I was spooked and many cuss words flew.
Many times, I would tumble into bushes or fall on rocks suddenly because of the tossing wind. The lake was perhaps 100 to 150 metres below us and yet, when the wind whipped up the water, I could literally see the sprays fly and twist up from the lake like a tornado and coming down on us as rain.
I was so desperate even ONE SKINNY TREE was considered as a shelter. Whenever I could feel, hear or see the wind coming, I tried to get myself to one of these ‘shelters’. Sometimes, it was not possible and I just had to try and maintain my balance desperately. I was alone and I did not fancy being blown backwards and landing on my backpack, like a turn-turtle for no one would be able to help me! I muttered some Buddhist prayers during these moments.
Oftentimes, around a bend, downslope, on a slippery rocky path, with wobbly legs, I had to wait for the wind to die down momentarily and psyche myself to make the walk round the bend quickly, without being blown off into the abyss. “OK, now! Go!”
Finally, I arrived at Refugio Los Cuernos just as it started to pour. Gosh, at the refugio, even full-grown men were complaining about being blown off the trails! I met up with Koen who had been there for an hour and Angela who arrived just a little after me. Koen left soon in the rain. Angela and I busied ourselves resting.
We left after a while with two Israeli guys. I had put a rain-cover on my backpack to protect it from the rain but I had actually inadvertently just converted my backpack into a SAIL. The wind caught the rain-cover and unable to blow right through, took me along and tossed me repeatedly. It was worse at one section as we were right on the beach, next to the lake. I had to remove it in the end.
The last 2 hours were the toughest for me. Hurben, the guy at my hostel, had pointed out, “You can camp at Refugio Los Cuernos or you can walk a bit more to Camp Italiano, free camping.” A BIT MORE, my foot!! It felt like an eternity! There was a lot more uphill on this section and after so many hours of walking and fighting against the wind, it was not appreciated at all.
I was actually very glad that the two Israeli guys were kind enough to wait for Angela and I and help us along the route, giving us a hand at the steeper portions. I guess, by then, I was quite used to the weight of the backpack and did not think about it anymore. I just concentrated on worrying about the wind.
I finally staggered, into Camp Italiano at 8pm, extremely fatigued… but incredibly relieved. Koen had to help me with my tent for I was just staring into space like a veggie.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 12 january 2003
It was only today that I took a good look around Camp Italiano and had to agree that this was a great campsite. It was very sheltered, the wind was not as bad as the first campsite. There was a beautiful rushing river in front of us. Behind us were the incredible Los Cuernos. Wonderful locale.
Lots of people at the campsite were now complaining of sore backs, busted knees and twisted ankles. Maybe Torres del Paine is a mis-print. It should have been Torres del PAIN.
Koen and I took an early slow walk up through the Valle de Francés. There was a stunning snow-covered mountain with melting glacier right next to the path. Hence, there were magnificent views throughout as we meandered next to the river on the rocks or through the forests to try and get behind this mountain.
After about 3 hours, we finally arrived at the Mirador. Surrounding us, nearly 300 degrees of view, was a near-continuous range of extra-ordinary mountains. I spun slowly clock-wise, soaking in the amazing view. It was a symphony. What a reward!
There was not much room at the Mirador and when it started to fill up with people, we made our descent.
Now, suddenly, my busted left knee just would not cooperate with me. It was painful to bend it. I had probably twisted it when I was blown around yesterday. It was very, very difficult for me to walk down the valley now. I tried to keep my knee straight as far as possible. I cringed in pain whenever I bent it.
It took me forever to arrive back at the campsite. I had wanted to go on to Refugio Pehoe today, which was reportedly 2½ hours away but Koen suggested I should rest today. Yeah, it had been like a race the last two days, hurrying to the towers and back and then, too windy and freezing cold to enjoy dinner and yesterday… need I say more? This was a holiday for us. Hooray Hooray, it’s a holi-holiday, we reminded ourselves.
We stayed one more night at this great campsite, made tea, cooked dinner, chatted with other hikers. It was a very pleasant evening.
Then, it rained.
Torres del Paine, CHILE - 13 january 2003
It was still raining and rather windy this morning. I got up to pee. Koen, who had wanted to catch the 10am boat from Refugio Pehoe, said he would leave at 8am this morning. I looked. Indeed, his tent was gone. I returned to my tent and made breakfast. Then, with nothing else to do, I returned to sleep.
I woke up at around 1pm and listened. It was still pattering away quietly but there was NO WIND. I peeped out. Several tents were gone now. I knew I had to take advantage of the lack of wind to pack. For if it was windy and I was alone, it would be difficult to pack the tent.
I shoved everything into my backpack in half an hour’s time and left in the rain. The route was muddy and slippery. I realised I still had a little phobia of the wind. But this route was just through undulating, gentle hills and swampy places with board-walks. Nothing as tough as Day 2.
2½ shivering-cold hours of walking in the cold rain with numb fingers and muddy wet boots was just about enough for today. The minute I arrived at Refugio Pehoe, I knew I was not going anywhere anymore. I found a sheltered spot and hurriedly pitched my tent.
Just when I finished it, I realised hoards of tourists, many on guided trips, were arriving at that moment and there was a mad scramble for camping spots. Where did they all come from?
A group of French tourists on a guided trip hovered near my tent and envied my choice-spot. They then pitched their tents all around me. There was even a dining-room tent with tables and chairs inside.
The rain continued incessantly. Everything was wet and cold. After making dinner inside my tent, I just sat there and tried to keep warm while I waited for nightfall. Meanwhile, the French had their four-course dinner served, drank some Bordeaux wine and chatted about bonbons and champignons in the dining-room tent.
That night, I wore my two fleece jackets to sleep. I felt very warm and claustrophobic. In fact, I felt as if I was perspiring profusely. Yet, I was shivering non-stop. WHY? I do not understand COLD! Beam me back to Brazil, Scottie.
Torres del Paine to Puerto Natales, CHILE - 14 january 2003
After nearly 24 hours of rain, I woke up to a beautiful blue sky and a bright sunny day. I even found 5000 Chilean Pesos (about US$7) near my tent. Some discerning readers might think I lost that 5000 Pesos myself last evening. But I could account for all of my pesos. It might be the 5000 Pesos I used to pay for the campsite (3000 Pesos). If so, the guy collecting the payment lost it. Or it might be dropped by one of the French tourists. Viva la France.
It was actually great weather for hiking today. But I just had no inclination to do the last bit to see Glacier Grey. I was exhausted. I had already achieved beyond my wildest expectation and lived to see Refugio Pehoe.
Taking advantage of the bright clear sky, I knew there would be a great view on the boat-ride to Refugio Pudeto and quickly took the 10am boat. Ah, just as I had hoped, Los Cuernos, seen from various angles, remained just as majestic and astounding.
A hiker was transported back on the same boat on a stretcher and in a neck-brace.
Sheesh… Having a neck-brace meant she did not just trip over a rock and fall. She FELL a large distance, probably tumbling down a mountain, I reckoned. The wind… It was indeed dangerous.
I stayed on at Refugio Pudeto until 2:30pm for my bus back to Puerto Natales. There was another boat leaving from Refugio Pehoe at 12:30pm which, by right, I could catch it and still be in time for my bus. But, guess what? By 12:30pm, the entire sky had turned cloudy and there was not a stitch of blue left in the sky. Los Cuernos was lost in the clouds by then. I was lucky.
It started to rain again after I got on my bus. The weather changed so quickly here. I had wanted to take a picture of a guanaco during my hike. I had seen several of them on the bus ride coming into Torres del Paine and now, on the ride out, I spotted them again. Guess they did not do the ‘W’ circuit.
Well, I was mighty pleased that I did the hike by myself and safely too. Can’t wait to rip off my pants and check out my new thigh muscles!
Thursday, January 9, 2003
20 - Where the Penguins Roam (Puerto Natales, El Chalten, El Calafate)
Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales, CHILE - 03 january 2003
The Germans were heading to Ushuaia today and I, to Puerto Natales. Kai and Udo had been in Punta Arenas for two weeks, waiting for Kai’s new passport. He had carelessly left it on a bus, two weeks into their trip. They were here so long they seemed to be running the hostel, for the hostel guys, Caco and Jorge, were hardly ever around.
The hostel guys would appear suddenly to fetch something from their rooms, exchange a few quick words with us and disappear. They would return at perhaps 10+pm and ask us to wake them up at 12 midnight so that they could go out to party. They were supposed to be at the bus-station all day, hoping to bait a tourist, like what they did me. Only last night did we have new guests but they were walk-ins.
We all seriously wondered if Caco could manage the hostel with the Germans gone. Just after they left for the bus-station, I asked Caco if he had taken the keys back from the Germans. He let out a scream and ran out to chase after the Germans. Later, he returned with the keys and pantingly told me that when the hostel was opened two months ago, he had twelve keys, and now, only three were left. Yeah, we should not worry, they would do a good job running their hostel.
I arrived at a yet another very windy and cold Chilean town, Puerto Natales. Maybe even windier and colder than what I remembered of Punta Arenas. And this was supposed to be SUMMER!
I made arrangements for my boat trip to Puerto Montt by ferry in two weeks’ time and had a discussion with Hurben, my hostel owner, about the Torres del Paine hike. He suggested I do it alone by renting a tent and a stove and bringing my own food. Urrmmm… I was not sure if I could do it but I would worry about that later. Tomorrow, I wanted to cross back into Argentina to visit a few places first, before returning to do the Torres del Paine trek.
When I was out about in town, I could not really go far for the wind was really very strong. It was better to stay huddled in a café or the hostel. At a café, I overheard a group of Western tourists, very seriously and studiously discussing the Torres del Paine hike, commenting about ‘4 hours on this trail’, and ‘the contours looked steep here’.
Actually, for a while now, since I arrived in Punta Arenas, I had already began to feel that the backpackers here appeared to be all out for an expedition, very equipped for trekking. Afterall, they had flown all the way from Europe purely to do some serious hikings. Most had gigantic backpacks, with rolled-up tents, mattresses, warm sleeping bags and other high-tech gears tied to them. Many also had the mean-looking walking poles, which if not used properly, could take an eye or two out. At every free time, they could be spotted poring over hiking maps, mapping out trails and discussing their routes. All very SERIOUS.
I bit into my bread and considered about ME. Gee… I, thoroughly ill-equipped, seemed to be heading off to do some trekking with nothing but a backpack of optimism.
Puerto Natales, CHILE to El Chaltén, ARGENTINA - 04 january 2003
Long day of travel today as I crossed the border back to Argentina. Strange that after the border, the clouds disappeared and the sky was beautifully blue. A huge difference from Puerto Natales.
We stopped at a toilet / snack stop in the middle of nowhere. I know I am repeating myself but the wind was really, really vicious. I did not walk back to the bus later. I kinda floated-landed-floated-landed.
As I looked out of the window and saw the whipping wind thrashing the scrublands, I realised this must be the part of the world where the locals had twenty different names for ‘wind’ and if I mentioned ‘árbol’ [tree] to them, they would need to look it up in the dictionary for they had long forgotten that trees exist on this planet.
We arrived at El Calafate, near the famous Argentinian glaciers, 7½ hours later. I bought another bus-ticket out to El Chaltén later this evening. Again, the journey to El Chaltén was through barren, wind-swept moonscape. However, the sky was so crisp and clear that day that when we were perhaps more than 100 km from El Chaltén, we were able to spot some sudden pointy intrusions from the plains - the mountains of Cerro Torres and Fitzroy in the distance.
Gosh, they were just spectacular, even from such a distance. Amidst the flatlands, it was weird to see such sharp peaks jutting out suddenly. That was why some mountains were named after impressive figures of our past and others are simply known as ‘mere mountains’.
El Chaltén, ARGENTINA - 05 january 2003
Such was my luck that today, the selected day for my hike to view Mount Fitzroy, it was cloudy the entire morning.
The clouds nested around Mount Fitzroy the entire time I was heading towards it, never quite lifting away. I was walking with Britta, a Canadian, who did not mind some company. The majority of the hike was through rather easy flattish woods. It was gorgeous all around, with pine trees and reddish shrubs and glaciers and snowy mountains in the distance.
The last bit of the hike, about 1 hour or so, was up a hill, rather steep and stony the entire way. I got really winded in a while. Seriously, can I do the Torres del Paine hike by myself?
But, naturally, once you reached the top, the reward was stupendous and you forget all the pains and troubles at once. Mount Fitzroy and company were picture-perfect behind Lago a los Tres, a glacier lake. OK, they would be picture-perfect if the clouds would lift. We stayed up there for more than an hour, basking in the radiant beauty of the surrounding mountains and the icy lake, waiting and waiting for the clouds.
Finally, we did a few snappies, filled up our bottles with glacier water and embarked on the walk down.
On the way back, we kept turning around to look at Mount Fitzroy. Slowly, the clouds WERE lifting! At each strategic spot, we took a picture, just in case this was the BEST Mount Fitzroy we could get. Actually, by then, I thought, with the clouds almost floating away, some parts of it clinging to the mountain, the tail-ends of it fluttering in the wind, somewhat caressing the sky… it actually made Mount Fitzroy look alive!
In the end, we probably had enough Mount Fitzroy photos to last a lifetime. Well, I was thoroughly impressed by the immense beauty of the park. Gosh, how can you NOT LOVE this country!!! No wonder they make great calendars.
El Chaltén to El Calafate, ARGENTINA - 06 january 2003
Today, heading out of El Chaltén, the sky was once again clear, cloudless and wondrously blue. Oh well. Mount Fitzroy posed eternally and stoically in the background as I departed.
Back in El Calafate that afternoon, I walked around the touristy little town and poked my nose into those touristy little shops selling touristy little souvenirs.
Now back in Argentina, which was cheaper than Chile, I decided to purchase some grocery supplies for my Torres del Paine hike which I still was not sure if I could do it.
El Calafate, ARGENTINA - 07 january 2003
I joined an excursion to do a minitrekking on Perito Moreno Glacier today. We were all bundled into a huge tourist bus and it spun through the woods and mountains for about 2 hours before turning a corner and lo and behold, the VERY IMPRESSIVE Perito Moreno Glacier stretched out ahead of us! What a VIEW!
Then, we were transported to a ferry that brought us to the western end of the glacier.
We were met by dashing-looking glacier-trekking guides. All of them were wearing cool sun-shades, were dressed in cool blue jackets, were slightly unshaven. They were just posing by the rocks, muttering ‘Buen dia’ [Good morning] and ‘Hola’ [Hello] and looking dashing.
They reminded me of the dashing-looking abseiling guides I had in Bonito, Brazil. Guess it came with the job description… Only the dashing-lookings need apply.
Luki, our English-speaking and dashing-looking guide, proceeded to explain how glaciers are formed to us English-speakers. The group of ice here in Southern Patagonia is the third largest in the world, after Antarctica and Greenland. The ice here is not very old, perhaps four or five centuries old, but it was difficult to estimate. See? Despite being slightly distracted, I paid attention.
Just then, we heard a crack and a groan and some chunks of ice fell off round the corner. It created a series of waves that washed up to our feet.
We donned crampons and followed José, another dashing-looking dude, up the undulating ice. It was not very difficult to walk on ice, with crampons. Just stomp around. It was better to walk with feet apart and flat-down.
Occasionally, there were deep, blue, beautiful crevices or holes inside the glacier. The ‘blueness’ was an optical illusion caused by the lack of oxygen in the ice further below.
When we were done, we were brought to another viewpoint right in front of the HUGE glacier. It was really very impressive. How blue it all looked. I could not believe I was staring right at a glacier!! I had long since run out of adjectives. I waited for the chance to see a whole wall of ice fall off. So, whenever there was a crack and a groan, we all looked around desperately, “Where? Where?” It was a AMAZING excursion. I probably had enough glacier photos to last two lifetimes.
El Calafate, ARGENTINA to Puerto Natales, CHILE - 08 january 2003
We crossed the border back to Chile. The Customs guys at the Chilean border wanted to check our bags. Ooops. We were not supposed to bring in fruits, meat and some stuff. I was not sure if the groceries I picked up were alright. He rummaged through my bag, fondled my cans of pate and my packet of rice and said nothing. He missed my carton of Dulce de leche (but of course!). Phew.
Puerto Natales, CHILE - 09 january 2003
I bought more groceries, rented a one-man tent and a stove, shopped around and found a cheap canister of gas and shoved everything into my backpack. Yet, I still was not sure if I could do the Torres del Paine hike myself.
By evening, I chatted with a Swiss couple, Thomas and Silvie, and a Dutch girl, Hannake, in the hostel. Thomas and Silvie were also heading to Torres del Paine tomorrow. Hanna was waiting for some Dutch friends to show up tonight and they would hit Torres del Paine the day after.
Thomas: “Do you have rain gear?”
Me: “Just a jacket.”
Silvie: “Nothing for your pants??”
Me: “No… nothing.”
Thomas: “Oh, everyone on the trip says it will definitely RAIN and RAIN!”
Silvie: “How about thermal underwear?”
Me: “Nope, I don’t have that either.”
Silvie, concerned: “But it will be VERY COLD!”
Thomas: “What temperature can your sleeping bag take?”
Me: “It says on the label 1°C to 8°C.”
Thomas, now very concerned: “Oh no… That means you will only be barely comfortable at 8°C. It is not warm enough.”
Hanna: “WHAT? You don’t even have a map???”
Me: “Well. No. I suppose I can borrow, if I want.”
The three were very sweet and very kind and very concerned for me. I knew I was ill-equipped but I just did not possess the fancy gears that Europeans do and I could not BUY everything.
They have these gizmos because they are experienced hikers and they come from cold countries and use them anyway. For my tropical country - Sarong? Yes… Cute spaghetti-straped sundresses? Yes… Thermal underwear? Afraid not.
I guessed they probably said a silent prayer for me that evening.
The Germans were heading to Ushuaia today and I, to Puerto Natales. Kai and Udo had been in Punta Arenas for two weeks, waiting for Kai’s new passport. He had carelessly left it on a bus, two weeks into their trip. They were here so long they seemed to be running the hostel, for the hostel guys, Caco and Jorge, were hardly ever around.
The hostel guys would appear suddenly to fetch something from their rooms, exchange a few quick words with us and disappear. They would return at perhaps 10+pm and ask us to wake them up at 12 midnight so that they could go out to party. They were supposed to be at the bus-station all day, hoping to bait a tourist, like what they did me. Only last night did we have new guests but they were walk-ins.
We all seriously wondered if Caco could manage the hostel with the Germans gone. Just after they left for the bus-station, I asked Caco if he had taken the keys back from the Germans. He let out a scream and ran out to chase after the Germans. Later, he returned with the keys and pantingly told me that when the hostel was opened two months ago, he had twelve keys, and now, only three were left. Yeah, we should not worry, they would do a good job running their hostel.
I arrived at a yet another very windy and cold Chilean town, Puerto Natales. Maybe even windier and colder than what I remembered of Punta Arenas. And this was supposed to be SUMMER!
I made arrangements for my boat trip to Puerto Montt by ferry in two weeks’ time and had a discussion with Hurben, my hostel owner, about the Torres del Paine hike. He suggested I do it alone by renting a tent and a stove and bringing my own food. Urrmmm… I was not sure if I could do it but I would worry about that later. Tomorrow, I wanted to cross back into Argentina to visit a few places first, before returning to do the Torres del Paine trek.
When I was out about in town, I could not really go far for the wind was really very strong. It was better to stay huddled in a café or the hostel. At a café, I overheard a group of Western tourists, very seriously and studiously discussing the Torres del Paine hike, commenting about ‘4 hours on this trail’, and ‘the contours looked steep here’.
Actually, for a while now, since I arrived in Punta Arenas, I had already began to feel that the backpackers here appeared to be all out for an expedition, very equipped for trekking. Afterall, they had flown all the way from Europe purely to do some serious hikings. Most had gigantic backpacks, with rolled-up tents, mattresses, warm sleeping bags and other high-tech gears tied to them. Many also had the mean-looking walking poles, which if not used properly, could take an eye or two out. At every free time, they could be spotted poring over hiking maps, mapping out trails and discussing their routes. All very SERIOUS.
I bit into my bread and considered about ME. Gee… I, thoroughly ill-equipped, seemed to be heading off to do some trekking with nothing but a backpack of optimism.
Puerto Natales, CHILE to El Chaltén, ARGENTINA - 04 january 2003
Long day of travel today as I crossed the border back to Argentina. Strange that after the border, the clouds disappeared and the sky was beautifully blue. A huge difference from Puerto Natales.
We stopped at a toilet / snack stop in the middle of nowhere. I know I am repeating myself but the wind was really, really vicious. I did not walk back to the bus later. I kinda floated-landed-floated-landed.
As I looked out of the window and saw the whipping wind thrashing the scrublands, I realised this must be the part of the world where the locals had twenty different names for ‘wind’ and if I mentioned ‘árbol’ [tree] to them, they would need to look it up in the dictionary for they had long forgotten that trees exist on this planet.
We arrived at El Calafate, near the famous Argentinian glaciers, 7½ hours later. I bought another bus-ticket out to El Chaltén later this evening. Again, the journey to El Chaltén was through barren, wind-swept moonscape. However, the sky was so crisp and clear that day that when we were perhaps more than 100 km from El Chaltén, we were able to spot some sudden pointy intrusions from the plains - the mountains of Cerro Torres and Fitzroy in the distance.
Gosh, they were just spectacular, even from such a distance. Amidst the flatlands, it was weird to see such sharp peaks jutting out suddenly. That was why some mountains were named after impressive figures of our past and others are simply known as ‘mere mountains’.
El Chaltén, ARGENTINA - 05 january 2003
Such was my luck that today, the selected day for my hike to view Mount Fitzroy, it was cloudy the entire morning.
The clouds nested around Mount Fitzroy the entire time I was heading towards it, never quite lifting away. I was walking with Britta, a Canadian, who did not mind some company. The majority of the hike was through rather easy flattish woods. It was gorgeous all around, with pine trees and reddish shrubs and glaciers and snowy mountains in the distance.
The last bit of the hike, about 1 hour or so, was up a hill, rather steep and stony the entire way. I got really winded in a while. Seriously, can I do the Torres del Paine hike by myself?
But, naturally, once you reached the top, the reward was stupendous and you forget all the pains and troubles at once. Mount Fitzroy and company were picture-perfect behind Lago a los Tres, a glacier lake. OK, they would be picture-perfect if the clouds would lift. We stayed up there for more than an hour, basking in the radiant beauty of the surrounding mountains and the icy lake, waiting and waiting for the clouds.
Finally, we did a few snappies, filled up our bottles with glacier water and embarked on the walk down.
On the way back, we kept turning around to look at Mount Fitzroy. Slowly, the clouds WERE lifting! At each strategic spot, we took a picture, just in case this was the BEST Mount Fitzroy we could get. Actually, by then, I thought, with the clouds almost floating away, some parts of it clinging to the mountain, the tail-ends of it fluttering in the wind, somewhat caressing the sky… it actually made Mount Fitzroy look alive!
In the end, we probably had enough Mount Fitzroy photos to last a lifetime. Well, I was thoroughly impressed by the immense beauty of the park. Gosh, how can you NOT LOVE this country!!! No wonder they make great calendars.
El Chaltén to El Calafate, ARGENTINA - 06 january 2003
Today, heading out of El Chaltén, the sky was once again clear, cloudless and wondrously blue. Oh well. Mount Fitzroy posed eternally and stoically in the background as I departed.
Back in El Calafate that afternoon, I walked around the touristy little town and poked my nose into those touristy little shops selling touristy little souvenirs.
Now back in Argentina, which was cheaper than Chile, I decided to purchase some grocery supplies for my Torres del Paine hike which I still was not sure if I could do it.
El Calafate, ARGENTINA - 07 january 2003
I joined an excursion to do a minitrekking on Perito Moreno Glacier today. We were all bundled into a huge tourist bus and it spun through the woods and mountains for about 2 hours before turning a corner and lo and behold, the VERY IMPRESSIVE Perito Moreno Glacier stretched out ahead of us! What a VIEW!
Then, we were transported to a ferry that brought us to the western end of the glacier.
We were met by dashing-looking glacier-trekking guides. All of them were wearing cool sun-shades, were dressed in cool blue jackets, were slightly unshaven. They were just posing by the rocks, muttering ‘Buen dia’ [Good morning] and ‘Hola’ [Hello] and looking dashing.
They reminded me of the dashing-looking abseiling guides I had in Bonito, Brazil. Guess it came with the job description… Only the dashing-lookings need apply.
Luki, our English-speaking and dashing-looking guide, proceeded to explain how glaciers are formed to us English-speakers. The group of ice here in Southern Patagonia is the third largest in the world, after Antarctica and Greenland. The ice here is not very old, perhaps four or five centuries old, but it was difficult to estimate. See? Despite being slightly distracted, I paid attention.
Just then, we heard a crack and a groan and some chunks of ice fell off round the corner. It created a series of waves that washed up to our feet.
We donned crampons and followed José, another dashing-looking dude, up the undulating ice. It was not very difficult to walk on ice, with crampons. Just stomp around. It was better to walk with feet apart and flat-down.
Occasionally, there were deep, blue, beautiful crevices or holes inside the glacier. The ‘blueness’ was an optical illusion caused by the lack of oxygen in the ice further below.
When we were done, we were brought to another viewpoint right in front of the HUGE glacier. It was really very impressive. How blue it all looked. I could not believe I was staring right at a glacier!! I had long since run out of adjectives. I waited for the chance to see a whole wall of ice fall off. So, whenever there was a crack and a groan, we all looked around desperately, “Where? Where?” It was a AMAZING excursion. I probably had enough glacier photos to last two lifetimes.
El Calafate, ARGENTINA to Puerto Natales, CHILE - 08 january 2003
We crossed the border back to Chile. The Customs guys at the Chilean border wanted to check our bags. Ooops. We were not supposed to bring in fruits, meat and some stuff. I was not sure if the groceries I picked up were alright. He rummaged through my bag, fondled my cans of pate and my packet of rice and said nothing. He missed my carton of Dulce de leche (but of course!). Phew.
Puerto Natales, CHILE - 09 january 2003
I bought more groceries, rented a one-man tent and a stove, shopped around and found a cheap canister of gas and shoved everything into my backpack. Yet, I still was not sure if I could do the Torres del Paine hike myself.
By evening, I chatted with a Swiss couple, Thomas and Silvie, and a Dutch girl, Hannake, in the hostel. Thomas and Silvie were also heading to Torres del Paine tomorrow. Hanna was waiting for some Dutch friends to show up tonight and they would hit Torres del Paine the day after.
Thomas: “Do you have rain gear?”
Me: “Just a jacket.”
Silvie: “Nothing for your pants??”
Me: “No… nothing.”
Thomas: “Oh, everyone on the trip says it will definitely RAIN and RAIN!”
Silvie: “How about thermal underwear?”
Me: “Nope, I don’t have that either.”
Silvie, concerned: “But it will be VERY COLD!”
Thomas: “What temperature can your sleeping bag take?”
Me: “It says on the label 1°C to 8°C.”
Thomas, now very concerned: “Oh no… That means you will only be barely comfortable at 8°C. It is not warm enough.”
Hanna: “WHAT? You don’t even have a map???”
Me: “Well. No. I suppose I can borrow, if I want.”
The three were very sweet and very kind and very concerned for me. I knew I was ill-equipped but I just did not possess the fancy gears that Europeans do and I could not BUY everything.
They have these gizmos because they are experienced hikers and they come from cold countries and use them anyway. For my tropical country - Sarong? Yes… Cute spaghetti-straped sundresses? Yes… Thermal underwear? Afraid not.
I guessed they probably said a silent prayer for me that evening.
Thursday, January 2, 2003
20 - Where the Penguins Roam (Punta Arenas)
Ushuaia, ARGENTINA to Punta Arenas, CHILE - 31 december 2002
I had been warned by Carolyn and Lydia (who had visited me in Buenos Aires) that I ought to try and buy my bus-ticket out of Ushuaia as soon as I arrive as they were hard to come by.
For novelty, I had wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at the ‘end of the world’ but it was either a bus out of Ushuaia today or a bus out of Ushuaia many many days later. So, instead, I would be spending New Year’s Eve in Punta Arenas, Chile later this evening.
I got the last but one seat on the bus to Punta Arenas, next to the onboard toilet. My neighbour (who got the last seat) was an American but a more mature guy, i.e. he had grey hair and smoked a pipe.
Guess what, he had also just returned from a 10-day Antarctica cruise. OK, here I go again… rubbed shoulders one more time. And that was not all, he was going to Punta Arenas to fly to the Falkland Islands. Gee, Grey Piper was going places!
He then proceeded to ask me which countries I had ever been to in my LIFE. Er… I found this question awkward to answer. I hate being a lister. To rattle off the countries that I had been to in my life? That was so boring! Since this was what he asked, I guess I had to answer something. But I just knew that he was actually not interested in listening. So I replied sparingly.
Grey Piper selected some countries and zoomed in further. Which cities? This was beyond weird. As I gingerly made my replies again, he interrupted ever so often to say “Ah, I’ve been there, in ’76”, “Oh, been there, 12 years ago”, “Uh-huh, was there, summer of ’83”…
As this was a long, boring bus journey through bleak, desolate landscape, I shall interrupt to give my observations of the myriad travellers around that make up this weird and wonderful world.
The below are all true examples, I swear.
TYPE: THE WAITING-TO-EXHALE
Example 1
Someone: “How long did you travel?”
Guy: “I went to 26 countries in 21 months.”
Someone: “Wow… how much did you spend?”
The Guy actually proceeded to reply an amount, right up to the CENTS! It was like this guy had had all his answers prepared in his mind, just waiting… W-A-I-T-I-N-G for someone to ask him those questions.
Example 2
Then, there were those like Grey Piper who sought for the chance to interrupt and drop hints of where HE had been to, in the disguise that he was interested in knowing where YOU had been to. At the merest hint or flicker from your eyes or sometimes, even utterly unsolicited, he would proceed to extrapolate on his travels, furnishing you with details and anecdotes. He shoved everything down your throat the first 5 minutes of meeting you.
TYPE: THE ANYTHING-YOU-DID-I-DID-IT-BETTER
Example 1
The below conversation actually happened to me and I write it now, verbatim. Note that there was no pause between each question.
2 points – Win; 0 point – Lose; 1 point - Draw.
Guy: “Have you been to Jordan?”
Me: “Yes”
Score, Me vs Guy - 1 : 1
Guy: “Did you go to Petra?”
Me: “Er… Yes”
Score, Me vs Guy - 2 : 2
Guy: “How many days did you spend there?”
Me: “4 days”
Score, Me vs Guy - 3 : 3
(OK, if I was this TYPE of traveller, I would argue that the guy did not proffer HIS number of days spent in Petra, and hence we could not verify if this was indeed a DRAW situation. But since I was not this TYPE of traveller, I let it slide, haha.)
Guy: “Did you go to Wadi Rum?”
Me: “Wadi Rum? No…”
Guy, with a flourish: “I spent ONE NIGHT in the Wadi Rum desert under the stars.”
Score, Me vs Guy - 3 : 5
Stand back, we have a winner…
Example 2
Pablo and I were sitting behind a guy at the National Stadium of Ulaan Baator, watching the wrestling match during Naadam Festival. Guy turned around and started a conversation with Pablo. He finally asked, “So, how many days have you been in Mongolia?”
Pablo racked his brain, “Er… I think, 8…10 days?”
Guy: “For me, THREE months.”
With a flourish (this type usually ended with flourishes), he swung his bag and strode out of our lives. Pablo and I looked at each other, incredulous. Like, what J-U-S-T happened?
TYPE : THE LISTER or LIST-BUILDER
Example 1
Guy: “I just crossed the border to Argentina to visit the Iguaçu Falls. Does that mean I have entered my 31st country?… Yeah, I think it counts.”
This would also be someone like Regi who was planning on going to Antarctica because that was the last continent he had not set foot on. It was those who wanted to be able to say that they had been there, done that, to put a ‘tick’ against the country or continent.
Example 2
Then there are those who simply rattled off the countries they had been to, whether called for or not. They can sometimes be confused with the WAITING-TO-EXHALE but that specimen usually provided more details while this just go for IMPACT and love to bask in the awe-struck after-effect of the listener.
The bleak, desolate landscape of southern Patagonia continued in front of me. For the next few hours, I dozed and woke, read and stared out of the window.
Suddenly, out of the blue, Grey Piper proclaimed, “It would be great to be able to go to Spitzburgen.”
We were not talking about anything prior to this for hours. It was not a case of talking about the north, south, east or west of some places that triggered him to be reminded of Spitzburgen.
I knew he was saying this for IMPACT. He must have calculated that the listener had an 80% chance of not knowing where or what Spitzburgen was and that the listener would get all flustered and would implore, “Huh?? Spitzburgen?? Where’s that? What’s that? I don’t know this place.” And he would then proceed, with swollen ego, to enlighten the pitiful listener.
The above thought processed in my head in a few micro-seconds. He had also misjudged me to be one of the 80% statistic, for I knew where Spitzburgen was. I refused to grant him the pleasure.
“Spitzburgen? North of Norway? That’s an idea…” I smiled nonchalantly, unimpressed, and returned to the wonderfully bleak and desolate landscape of southern Patagonia.
Don’t get me wrong, I admire well-travelled people and love to hear their stories. But there are just some who… irk me.
We paused by the Magellanes Straits to await the vehicle-ferry to transport us across. The tortured Chilean flag fluttering nearby had been thoroughly abused, harshly blown. The flag now remained half the length of what it used to be, its ends totally in shreds.
I guess, this was how it was like in Southern Patagonia, always freakingly cold, rainy and windy. What a savage place to live in…
There were a few hostel touters at the bus-station when we arrived at Punta Arenas. I followed a guy named Caco back to his hostel. The hostel had four other guests, all Germans. Guess who was the odd one out?
Oh, I did not mind them speaking in German among themselves. For now, I still enjoy listening to another language other than English. It sounded beautifully harsh. Occasionally, one of them would do me the favour by translating what they were saying. The joke was usually lost by then.
A few minutes before midnight, the Germans, Kai, Udo, Thomas and Nadia, and I headed to the Plaza de Armas to look for a party. Amazingly, the entire town was dead. No lights shone through the houses we passed by. When we arrived at the Plaza, there were a few sparse groups loitering around. I counted about 15 of us, perhaps all tourists.
We all had different times on us. Someone quipped, “3 minutes left!” Others argued, “No, 1 minute!” In the end, when our ‘New Year celebrations’ began was dependent on when the corks of our respective champagne bottles popped out into the air. There were waves of ‘FELIZ AÑO NEUVO’ [Happy New Year] called out at different times.
We hopped up and down the square, trying to make as much noise as possible in this lifeless town. We all agreed this was the weirdest and most silent New Year ‘party’ we had had in a while. We hugged strangers, wished one another well, took swigs out of the cheap champagne. Then… the town clock struck ‘12’ and chimed away. Oops, we were a tad early. Alas, no fireworks either.
A party was held in one of the buildings facing the square and the merrily drunk people leaned out of the balcony and started throwing streamers down and waving at us to run up and join them. We did, only to be turned away by the waiters!
The tourists hung around the square and figured, well, we just had to move on, for NOTHING was happening down there. The Germans and I walked to another hostel. This was also quiet but it had more people in the hostel and there were music and food.
We invited ourselves in and the drunk and cheery lady-in-charge placed five bottles of wine on our table. We later furtively took their plates of leftover pear crumble and chocolate cake and scraped up everything with our fingers.
We talked and drank until 4:30am when the sky turned blue again. It had turned dark at 10:30pm last year, just 6 hours ago and now, ah… a brand new year begins…
Punta Arenas, CHILE - 01 january 2003
Punta Arenas looked wind-swept and desolate today as well. No cars passed by our hostel. No one walked by either.
I curled up on the sofa, and spent New Year’s Day reading a book by Argentina’s most intellectual writer Jorge Luis Borges - ‘Labyrinths’.
I realised, a little giddily, Borges and I share the same birthdate – 24 August. How lucky I am! But, I am the living proof that sharing the same birthdate has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with sharing similar intellectual levels.
I needed full concentration to read his book. I pored over it studiously, frequently re-reading certain paragraphs. All the stories revolved around somewhat magical themes that took you far away from reality and yet, seemingly and confusingly so dead-pan and real. Magical words like ‘infinity’, ‘cyclical’, ‘limitless’, ‘eternity’ and of course, ‘labyrinth’ featured prominently in all the stories.
There are many ways to travel and I had just been exposed to yet another way by Borges… travelling of the mind to magical places.
Punta Arenas, CHILE - 02 january 2003
I paid my visit to the Penguin’s Colony near Punta Arenas in the afternoon. As the tour van drove around to pick up tourists from their hotels, an American lady asked the driver, “Hay más personas para coger? [Are there more people to pick up?]” I looked up, nearly bursting into laughter. Er… in Latin America, that phrase would have meant: “Are there more people to f*#k?” Snickersnickersnicker…
It was about one and a half hour’s drive through more wind-swept plains, dotted with the occasional rheas (ostrich-like birds found in South America), to arrive at Seno Otway, some 70 or so km out of Punta Arenas.
The Magellanic Penguins returned to this site from October to March to breed and raise their babies. And January was the month to see the baby penguins.
We walked on boardwalks through the nature reserve. I hurried along as I figured the penguins would be near to the coast. Suddenly, I spied a penguin casually standing outside a burrow. Then, a few more steps took me merely one metre from two penguins, lying huddled together on the grass. I was totally amazed by how close we could be to them and yet, they did not seem to be spooked by us.
Near the coast, there were many families standing and lying outside their burrows. The babies were still in baby fur, but they looked as big as their parents. Some were cleaning their wings. Some appeared to be dozing. Others were just standing around, penguin-watching.
Groups of three or four were toddling their way up from or down to the coast. At the coast, which we could peer out from a hide, tonnes of them were standing around or plunging into the water. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!!
The last time I saw penguins was in Krakow, Poland when the penguin-nuns flocked to Krakow to await the arrival of the Pope Mobile, back in August. So, this was an incredible experience for me. Penguins just crack me up. They look so cute and funny. I guess it was from all ‘The Far Side’ comics I had read.
Maybe the persistent wind blew and stretched the two ends of my mouth to the sides for I had a permanent grin fixated on my face for the rest of the walk around the reserve. I was freezing cold, blown senseless by the southern wind, but I guess I was more dizzy with the euphoric feeling of being present in such an extreme location to see a colony of penguins.
I had been warned by Carolyn and Lydia (who had visited me in Buenos Aires) that I ought to try and buy my bus-ticket out of Ushuaia as soon as I arrive as they were hard to come by.
For novelty, I had wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at the ‘end of the world’ but it was either a bus out of Ushuaia today or a bus out of Ushuaia many many days later. So, instead, I would be spending New Year’s Eve in Punta Arenas, Chile later this evening.
I got the last but one seat on the bus to Punta Arenas, next to the onboard toilet. My neighbour (who got the last seat) was an American but a more mature guy, i.e. he had grey hair and smoked a pipe.
Guess what, he had also just returned from a 10-day Antarctica cruise. OK, here I go again… rubbed shoulders one more time. And that was not all, he was going to Punta Arenas to fly to the Falkland Islands. Gee, Grey Piper was going places!
He then proceeded to ask me which countries I had ever been to in my LIFE. Er… I found this question awkward to answer. I hate being a lister. To rattle off the countries that I had been to in my life? That was so boring! Since this was what he asked, I guess I had to answer something. But I just knew that he was actually not interested in listening. So I replied sparingly.
Grey Piper selected some countries and zoomed in further. Which cities? This was beyond weird. As I gingerly made my replies again, he interrupted ever so often to say “Ah, I’ve been there, in ’76”, “Oh, been there, 12 years ago”, “Uh-huh, was there, summer of ’83”…
As this was a long, boring bus journey through bleak, desolate landscape, I shall interrupt to give my observations of the myriad travellers around that make up this weird and wonderful world.
The below are all true examples, I swear.
TYPE: THE WAITING-TO-EXHALE
Example 1
Someone: “How long did you travel?”
Guy: “I went to 26 countries in 21 months.”
Someone: “Wow… how much did you spend?”
The Guy actually proceeded to reply an amount, right up to the CENTS! It was like this guy had had all his answers prepared in his mind, just waiting… W-A-I-T-I-N-G for someone to ask him those questions.
Example 2
Then, there were those like Grey Piper who sought for the chance to interrupt and drop hints of where HE had been to, in the disguise that he was interested in knowing where YOU had been to. At the merest hint or flicker from your eyes or sometimes, even utterly unsolicited, he would proceed to extrapolate on his travels, furnishing you with details and anecdotes. He shoved everything down your throat the first 5 minutes of meeting you.
TYPE: THE ANYTHING-YOU-DID-I-DID-IT-BETTER
Example 1
The below conversation actually happened to me and I write it now, verbatim. Note that there was no pause between each question.
2 points – Win; 0 point – Lose; 1 point - Draw.
Guy: “Have you been to Jordan?”
Me: “Yes”
Score, Me vs Guy - 1 : 1
Guy: “Did you go to Petra?”
Me: “Er… Yes”
Score, Me vs Guy - 2 : 2
Guy: “How many days did you spend there?”
Me: “4 days”
Score, Me vs Guy - 3 : 3
(OK, if I was this TYPE of traveller, I would argue that the guy did not proffer HIS number of days spent in Petra, and hence we could not verify if this was indeed a DRAW situation. But since I was not this TYPE of traveller, I let it slide, haha.)
Guy: “Did you go to Wadi Rum?”
Me: “Wadi Rum? No…”
Guy, with a flourish: “I spent ONE NIGHT in the Wadi Rum desert under the stars.”
Score, Me vs Guy - 3 : 5
Stand back, we have a winner…
Example 2
Pablo and I were sitting behind a guy at the National Stadium of Ulaan Baator, watching the wrestling match during Naadam Festival. Guy turned around and started a conversation with Pablo. He finally asked, “So, how many days have you been in Mongolia?”
Pablo racked his brain, “Er… I think, 8…10 days?”
Guy: “For me, THREE months.”
With a flourish (this type usually ended with flourishes), he swung his bag and strode out of our lives. Pablo and I looked at each other, incredulous. Like, what J-U-S-T happened?
TYPE : THE LISTER or LIST-BUILDER
Example 1
Guy: “I just crossed the border to Argentina to visit the Iguaçu Falls. Does that mean I have entered my 31st country?… Yeah, I think it counts.”
This would also be someone like Regi who was planning on going to Antarctica because that was the last continent he had not set foot on. It was those who wanted to be able to say that they had been there, done that, to put a ‘tick’ against the country or continent.
Example 2
Then there are those who simply rattled off the countries they had been to, whether called for or not. They can sometimes be confused with the WAITING-TO-EXHALE but that specimen usually provided more details while this just go for IMPACT and love to bask in the awe-struck after-effect of the listener.
The bleak, desolate landscape of southern Patagonia continued in front of me. For the next few hours, I dozed and woke, read and stared out of the window.
Suddenly, out of the blue, Grey Piper proclaimed, “It would be great to be able to go to Spitzburgen.”
We were not talking about anything prior to this for hours. It was not a case of talking about the north, south, east or west of some places that triggered him to be reminded of Spitzburgen.
I knew he was saying this for IMPACT. He must have calculated that the listener had an 80% chance of not knowing where or what Spitzburgen was and that the listener would get all flustered and would implore, “Huh?? Spitzburgen?? Where’s that? What’s that? I don’t know this place.” And he would then proceed, with swollen ego, to enlighten the pitiful listener.
The above thought processed in my head in a few micro-seconds. He had also misjudged me to be one of the 80% statistic, for I knew where Spitzburgen was. I refused to grant him the pleasure.
“Spitzburgen? North of Norway? That’s an idea…” I smiled nonchalantly, unimpressed, and returned to the wonderfully bleak and desolate landscape of southern Patagonia.
Don’t get me wrong, I admire well-travelled people and love to hear their stories. But there are just some who… irk me.
We paused by the Magellanes Straits to await the vehicle-ferry to transport us across. The tortured Chilean flag fluttering nearby had been thoroughly abused, harshly blown. The flag now remained half the length of what it used to be, its ends totally in shreds.
I guess, this was how it was like in Southern Patagonia, always freakingly cold, rainy and windy. What a savage place to live in…
There were a few hostel touters at the bus-station when we arrived at Punta Arenas. I followed a guy named Caco back to his hostel. The hostel had four other guests, all Germans. Guess who was the odd one out?
Oh, I did not mind them speaking in German among themselves. For now, I still enjoy listening to another language other than English. It sounded beautifully harsh. Occasionally, one of them would do me the favour by translating what they were saying. The joke was usually lost by then.
A few minutes before midnight, the Germans, Kai, Udo, Thomas and Nadia, and I headed to the Plaza de Armas to look for a party. Amazingly, the entire town was dead. No lights shone through the houses we passed by. When we arrived at the Plaza, there were a few sparse groups loitering around. I counted about 15 of us, perhaps all tourists.
We all had different times on us. Someone quipped, “3 minutes left!” Others argued, “No, 1 minute!” In the end, when our ‘New Year celebrations’ began was dependent on when the corks of our respective champagne bottles popped out into the air. There were waves of ‘FELIZ AÑO NEUVO’ [Happy New Year] called out at different times.
We hopped up and down the square, trying to make as much noise as possible in this lifeless town. We all agreed this was the weirdest and most silent New Year ‘party’ we had had in a while. We hugged strangers, wished one another well, took swigs out of the cheap champagne. Then… the town clock struck ‘12’ and chimed away. Oops, we were a tad early. Alas, no fireworks either.
A party was held in one of the buildings facing the square and the merrily drunk people leaned out of the balcony and started throwing streamers down and waving at us to run up and join them. We did, only to be turned away by the waiters!
The tourists hung around the square and figured, well, we just had to move on, for NOTHING was happening down there. The Germans and I walked to another hostel. This was also quiet but it had more people in the hostel and there were music and food.
We invited ourselves in and the drunk and cheery lady-in-charge placed five bottles of wine on our table. We later furtively took their plates of leftover pear crumble and chocolate cake and scraped up everything with our fingers.
We talked and drank until 4:30am when the sky turned blue again. It had turned dark at 10:30pm last year, just 6 hours ago and now, ah… a brand new year begins…
Punta Arenas, CHILE - 01 january 2003
Punta Arenas looked wind-swept and desolate today as well. No cars passed by our hostel. No one walked by either.
I curled up on the sofa, and spent New Year’s Day reading a book by Argentina’s most intellectual writer Jorge Luis Borges - ‘Labyrinths’.
I realised, a little giddily, Borges and I share the same birthdate – 24 August. How lucky I am! But, I am the living proof that sharing the same birthdate has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with sharing similar intellectual levels.
I needed full concentration to read his book. I pored over it studiously, frequently re-reading certain paragraphs. All the stories revolved around somewhat magical themes that took you far away from reality and yet, seemingly and confusingly so dead-pan and real. Magical words like ‘infinity’, ‘cyclical’, ‘limitless’, ‘eternity’ and of course, ‘labyrinth’ featured prominently in all the stories.
There are many ways to travel and I had just been exposed to yet another way by Borges… travelling of the mind to magical places.
Punta Arenas, CHILE - 02 january 2003
I paid my visit to the Penguin’s Colony near Punta Arenas in the afternoon. As the tour van drove around to pick up tourists from their hotels, an American lady asked the driver, “Hay más personas para coger? [Are there more people to pick up?]” I looked up, nearly bursting into laughter. Er… in Latin America, that phrase would have meant: “Are there more people to f*#k?” Snickersnickersnicker…
It was about one and a half hour’s drive through more wind-swept plains, dotted with the occasional rheas (ostrich-like birds found in South America), to arrive at Seno Otway, some 70 or so km out of Punta Arenas.
The Magellanic Penguins returned to this site from October to March to breed and raise their babies. And January was the month to see the baby penguins.
We walked on boardwalks through the nature reserve. I hurried along as I figured the penguins would be near to the coast. Suddenly, I spied a penguin casually standing outside a burrow. Then, a few more steps took me merely one metre from two penguins, lying huddled together on the grass. I was totally amazed by how close we could be to them and yet, they did not seem to be spooked by us.
Near the coast, there were many families standing and lying outside their burrows. The babies were still in baby fur, but they looked as big as their parents. Some were cleaning their wings. Some appeared to be dozing. Others were just standing around, penguin-watching.
Groups of three or four were toddling their way up from or down to the coast. At the coast, which we could peer out from a hide, tonnes of them were standing around or plunging into the water. It was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!!
The last time I saw penguins was in Krakow, Poland when the penguin-nuns flocked to Krakow to await the arrival of the Pope Mobile, back in August. So, this was an incredible experience for me. Penguins just crack me up. They look so cute and funny. I guess it was from all ‘The Far Side’ comics I had read.
Maybe the persistent wind blew and stretched the two ends of my mouth to the sides for I had a permanent grin fixated on my face for the rest of the walk around the reserve. I was freezing cold, blown senseless by the southern wind, but I guess I was more dizzy with the euphoric feeling of being present in such an extreme location to see a colony of penguins.
Monday, December 30, 2002
20 - Where the Penguins Roam (Ushuaia)
Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 28 december 2002
Pablo and I had yet another farewell hug at yet another airport. The last time was in Moscow, Russia when I saw him off at the airport and then, I had made my way to the nothernmost town of my entire trip - St. Petersburg.
Now, in turn, he saw me off at the airport and I would be making my way to the southernmost town of my entire trip - Ushuaia.
As the plane flew over Ushuaia, getting ready to land, I saw before me the most beautiful landscape I could ever recall from the air.
The snowy and craggy mountains stretched nearly to the edge of the bay. The mountains were simply breath-taking and I was lost for words. I gaped from my window, stupefied. The lady from my next seat had to ask me to sit back so that she could partake of the view as well. The pretty little town of Ushuaia sat at the bottom of the mountains, in front of the bay. I kept thinking where exactly I was on the map and I just could not get used to it.
I got off the plane and studied the people around me. I figured that this was probably the closest I ever got to rubbing shoulders with polar explorers, research biologists and people rich enough to afford the Antarctica cruises.
The air was absolutely crisp, fresh and cool. I left a 35°C Buenos Aires and arrived at a 7°C Ushuaia. I was enchanted by the colourful flowers all over town. I later learnt from a Chiliean that they are called ‘chochos’, they look like ears of corns in purple, pink, orange, etc… Delightful.
The sun was shining but the wind vicious. Many Argentine flags had tattered ends as they probably had been subjected to the relentless wind for ages.
Taking out my wind-breaker, I nearly lost it to oblivion. Standing by the dock, I nearly got tossed into the Beagle Channel. I tried to enjoy the outdoors and the sunshine by walking around but it was a tad difficult when you imagined your eye-lashes could be swept out to Antarctica any moment.
As I had just rejoined the ‘backpackers’ circuit after a two-month hiatus, frankly, I needed some time to get used to it again. I was not in the mood yet to chat with anybody… you know, the usual backpackers’ talk… “So, where are you from?”, “Are you just doing South America?”, “How long are you travelling for?”, “Where are you heading off next?”… In fact, listening to English being spoken in the next table in the café I was in, already disorientated me.
Here in Ushuaia, the sun set at around 10:30pm or 11pm. Yet another near ‘White Night’. I remember writing about this phenomenon when I was in St. Petersburg in summer. Then, I had giggled from my bed when I looked out of the window at midnight and could still observe the after-sunset blue. Now, nearly half a year later, I was in Ushuaia, in summer again, and experiencing the same phenomenon.
Two near ‘White Nights’ in one year. For someone whose natural habitat is on the Equator where the sun rises and sets at the same time everyday of the year, this was really a fantastic experience!
Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 29 december 2002
I headed to Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego in the morning. I had wanted to do this trek alone. I figured it would be a nice walk in the woods, totally immersed with nature.
I got off at the start of the trail with Paul, from England. He had just returned from a US$4000 10-day Antarctica cruise. See, I told you I would be rubbing shoulders with one of these luminaries.
We did the first 2km or so of the Coastal Path together. He did not mind doing this stretch of the trail with me but I feared I was slowing him down as he still wanted to conquer other more strenuous trails later. I kept urging him to feel free to move on ahead. In the end, he disappeared into the woods, never to be spotted by me again.
As I made my way through the woods by myself, I realised THIS was the way to enjoy nature. Ever so often, I stopped dead in my tracks and listened. The gentle lapping of the waves from the bay… the occasional distant songs from birds… the rustling of the leaves as the shifting wind blew over… the soft pecking of the trunks by invisible woodpeckers… I would miss all these if I had been walking with someone. We would be chatting away, totally clueless. Even if we did not talk and I had stopped in my track, the sound of the other person’s movements, the rubbing of his pants as he walked, his footsteps, would drown these subtle and gentle natural melodies.
I finished the Coastal Path and sat in front of the Lapataia Bay and had a sandwich. There were two possible trails from here and I tried to decide which one I would take. I decided to walk the Lago Roca trail to the border of Chile-Argentina. Hmmm… to walk through the woods to the border of two countries… Yep, there was a nice frontier ring to it.
I made my way along the lake and at some point, got myself a little lost. When you start having to turn away from sheer drops, or crawling through very narrow gaps between huge boulders, or getting pricked every so often, you could pretty much guess you had strayed from the required trail.
I could see no yellow poles for a while now. Either I turned back or I persevered on, hoping the yellow pole was just around the corner. In the end, to my relief, I spotted the ‘3km’ sign some distance away but I had to clamber on top of huge boulders and slide down a little slope unglamourously to reach it.
At the end of the trail, there was an orange obelisk-thingie and a sign ‘LIMITE INTERNACIONAL - NO PASAR / NO TRESPASSING’. I was naughty, I crossed into Chile illegally and did a wander around to test if there were hidden snipers or laser-triggered machine guns. Nope.
I sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite. The wind was extremely strong by the lake. I stood up, put on my Peruvian ‘alpaca, baby alpaca’ woolly cap and my Langmusi (Tibetan town in China) fashion-challenged gloves. Then, I re-sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite.
I mentally noted my geographical location on the globe. This was a moment to treasure, to savour.
Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 30 december 2002
I had complained about the high cost of sending post from Argentina but I made an exception today. I wrote a postcard to myself, a ‘Happy New Year’ greeting and sent it from el fin del mundo [the end of the world]. I wonder what I would make of it when I return home in a few months and read this postcard.
I took a boat ride down the Beagle Channel to veer near islands with resting cormorants and lounging sea-lions.
The way cormorants fly is great. They flutter their wings desperately ever so close to the water as they try to gain height and swoop away. I loved watching them take off. If I was not misinformed, their wings are not waterproof, hence, they need to stand around the island and dry their wings after that… which was what they were doing most of the time on the islands.
The sea-lions dozed away and lumbered around sleepily and grumpily. A few babies clustered together near their mommies.
On the boat was this guy, with a Texan drawl, from my hostel – Regi. He told me he had been doing some research to see how he could get to the Antarctica cheaply. He claimed that he always wanted to head out there because it was the last continent he had not set foot on. He was not too keen on those 10-day cruises, he just wanted to set foot on Antarctica.
Oh, sigh… I guess, all sorts of travellers exist. I did not agree with what he was saying but I exercised supreme self-control by clamming up, not saying a word and simply nodding away politely. Unsolicited, he went on to fortify my knowledge with his past trips and adventures. Well, once everything was out of the way, I guess I should be nice to say he was NOT THAT BAD a company.
Pablo and I had yet another farewell hug at yet another airport. The last time was in Moscow, Russia when I saw him off at the airport and then, I had made my way to the nothernmost town of my entire trip - St. Petersburg.
Now, in turn, he saw me off at the airport and I would be making my way to the southernmost town of my entire trip - Ushuaia.
As the plane flew over Ushuaia, getting ready to land, I saw before me the most beautiful landscape I could ever recall from the air.
The snowy and craggy mountains stretched nearly to the edge of the bay. The mountains were simply breath-taking and I was lost for words. I gaped from my window, stupefied. The lady from my next seat had to ask me to sit back so that she could partake of the view as well. The pretty little town of Ushuaia sat at the bottom of the mountains, in front of the bay. I kept thinking where exactly I was on the map and I just could not get used to it.
I got off the plane and studied the people around me. I figured that this was probably the closest I ever got to rubbing shoulders with polar explorers, research biologists and people rich enough to afford the Antarctica cruises.
The air was absolutely crisp, fresh and cool. I left a 35°C Buenos Aires and arrived at a 7°C Ushuaia. I was enchanted by the colourful flowers all over town. I later learnt from a Chiliean that they are called ‘chochos’, they look like ears of corns in purple, pink, orange, etc… Delightful.
The sun was shining but the wind vicious. Many Argentine flags had tattered ends as they probably had been subjected to the relentless wind for ages.
Taking out my wind-breaker, I nearly lost it to oblivion. Standing by the dock, I nearly got tossed into the Beagle Channel. I tried to enjoy the outdoors and the sunshine by walking around but it was a tad difficult when you imagined your eye-lashes could be swept out to Antarctica any moment.
As I had just rejoined the ‘backpackers’ circuit after a two-month hiatus, frankly, I needed some time to get used to it again. I was not in the mood yet to chat with anybody… you know, the usual backpackers’ talk… “So, where are you from?”, “Are you just doing South America?”, “How long are you travelling for?”, “Where are you heading off next?”… In fact, listening to English being spoken in the next table in the café I was in, already disorientated me.
Here in Ushuaia, the sun set at around 10:30pm or 11pm. Yet another near ‘White Night’. I remember writing about this phenomenon when I was in St. Petersburg in summer. Then, I had giggled from my bed when I looked out of the window at midnight and could still observe the after-sunset blue. Now, nearly half a year later, I was in Ushuaia, in summer again, and experiencing the same phenomenon.
Two near ‘White Nights’ in one year. For someone whose natural habitat is on the Equator where the sun rises and sets at the same time everyday of the year, this was really a fantastic experience!
Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 29 december 2002
I headed to Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego in the morning. I had wanted to do this trek alone. I figured it would be a nice walk in the woods, totally immersed with nature.
I got off at the start of the trail with Paul, from England. He had just returned from a US$4000 10-day Antarctica cruise. See, I told you I would be rubbing shoulders with one of these luminaries.
We did the first 2km or so of the Coastal Path together. He did not mind doing this stretch of the trail with me but I feared I was slowing him down as he still wanted to conquer other more strenuous trails later. I kept urging him to feel free to move on ahead. In the end, he disappeared into the woods, never to be spotted by me again.
As I made my way through the woods by myself, I realised THIS was the way to enjoy nature. Ever so often, I stopped dead in my tracks and listened. The gentle lapping of the waves from the bay… the occasional distant songs from birds… the rustling of the leaves as the shifting wind blew over… the soft pecking of the trunks by invisible woodpeckers… I would miss all these if I had been walking with someone. We would be chatting away, totally clueless. Even if we did not talk and I had stopped in my track, the sound of the other person’s movements, the rubbing of his pants as he walked, his footsteps, would drown these subtle and gentle natural melodies.
I finished the Coastal Path and sat in front of the Lapataia Bay and had a sandwich. There were two possible trails from here and I tried to decide which one I would take. I decided to walk the Lago Roca trail to the border of Chile-Argentina. Hmmm… to walk through the woods to the border of two countries… Yep, there was a nice frontier ring to it.
I made my way along the lake and at some point, got myself a little lost. When you start having to turn away from sheer drops, or crawling through very narrow gaps between huge boulders, or getting pricked every so often, you could pretty much guess you had strayed from the required trail.
I could see no yellow poles for a while now. Either I turned back or I persevered on, hoping the yellow pole was just around the corner. In the end, to my relief, I spotted the ‘3km’ sign some distance away but I had to clamber on top of huge boulders and slide down a little slope unglamourously to reach it.
At the end of the trail, there was an orange obelisk-thingie and a sign ‘LIMITE INTERNACIONAL - NO PASAR / NO TRESPASSING’. I was naughty, I crossed into Chile illegally and did a wander around to test if there were hidden snipers or laser-triggered machine guns. Nope.
I sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite. The wind was extremely strong by the lake. I stood up, put on my Peruvian ‘alpaca, baby alpaca’ woolly cap and my Langmusi (Tibetan town in China) fashion-challenged gloves. Then, I re-sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite.
I mentally noted my geographical location on the globe. This was a moment to treasure, to savour.
Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 30 december 2002
I had complained about the high cost of sending post from Argentina but I made an exception today. I wrote a postcard to myself, a ‘Happy New Year’ greeting and sent it from el fin del mundo [the end of the world]. I wonder what I would make of it when I return home in a few months and read this postcard.
I took a boat ride down the Beagle Channel to veer near islands with resting cormorants and lounging sea-lions.
The way cormorants fly is great. They flutter their wings desperately ever so close to the water as they try to gain height and swoop away. I loved watching them take off. If I was not misinformed, their wings are not waterproof, hence, they need to stand around the island and dry their wings after that… which was what they were doing most of the time on the islands.
The sea-lions dozed away and lumbered around sleepily and grumpily. A few babies clustered together near their mommies.
On the boat was this guy, with a Texan drawl, from my hostel – Regi. He told me he had been doing some research to see how he could get to the Antarctica cheaply. He claimed that he always wanted to head out there because it was the last continent he had not set foot on. He was not too keen on those 10-day cruises, he just wanted to set foot on Antarctica.
Oh, sigh… I guess, all sorts of travellers exist. I did not agree with what he was saying but I exercised supreme self-control by clamming up, not saying a word and simply nodding away politely. Unsolicited, he went on to fortify my knowledge with his past trips and adventures. Well, once everything was out of the way, I guess I should be nice to say he was NOT THAT BAD a company.
Friday, December 27, 2002
19 - The Great Stain Robbery (Buenos Aires)
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 05 - 07 december 2002
The street vendors and buskers have been back along Calles Florida and Lavalle for the past week now. I am not sure if the police had lifted the ‘ban’ (which lasted a whopping 10 days or so) or the vendors just kept coming back that the police had given up trying to fight them.
I also saw children 8 to 10 years old, trying to play accordions for pesos. The poor dears, they had barely mastered the instruments and now they were most likely sent to the streets by their parents to make a living.
At many traffic junctions, one could see jugglers, clowns or performers who twirled a stick with two sticks. They would rush to the front of traffic at each red-light and perform their routines. Then, the guys went around to collect some change from the drivers before they drove off. Again, it pained me to see children jugglers.
The Argentinian government had introduced two new ‘currencies’ since the crisis - the patacones and lecops. One could see some shops stating that they accepted patacones and lecops, while others claimed they did not accept patacones and lecops.
These ‘currencies’ looked like Monopoly play-money. People would earn their salary in combinations of pesos, patacones and lecops. These are paper-money printed for the sake of increasing circulation without having real Arg Pesos. However, only certain shops accept patacones and lecops and these currencies exist only in Buenos Aires. One could not spend them in other parts of Argentina.
Frida baby had grown to a whooping 10.5 inches long and seemed to be holding for now.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 08 december 2002
I had met an Australian girl briefly in Mexico in 2000. Carolyn was then on a RTW trip for about a year. She had returned to Australia to work for a few months and was now on another long trip of about eight months. To my surprise, she had written that she was coming to Buenos Aires with her friend, Lydia!
They arrived last night and we arranged to meet today. Imagine, we had kept in touch via email since we first met very briefly in Mexico and now we were meeting each other again, not in HER city not in MY city but in ANOTHER city on the other side of the globe, again! It was incredible.
Lydia, Carolyn and I clicked immediately. Lydia had just started on her one-year RTW trip too. The three of us had many things in common, our frequencies were exactly the same, we could not stop talking and sharing our experiences. They were both well-travelled and had tons of stories to share. We were laughing all the time.
It would had been a wonderful, perfect day had it not been spoiled later by a robbery.
First, we noticed a smell. Lydia felt her hair and out came a gooey, oily stuff with a horrible stench. I checked my bag. It was similarly stained with that gross stuff. Lydia figured someone threw something out of the window. I set my bag down to clean it. Carolyn had that stuff trickling down her back.
Two women were nearby and appeared to be similarly stained. They came over, asking if we had paper or water. Naturally, we opened our bags to retrieve them for the women. Soon, they got us checking their backs and one women stood between me and my bag and started wiping my back.
Then, they were gone. I looked at my bag. It was open and I was now missing my camera!
AARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! This was the famous stain-and-distract trick! We had all heard about it. We had all been warned about it. Carolyn had had been stained once in her trip and she was quick enough then to disengage herself from the culprits. We were all relatively experienced travellers. Because we were in a group, we felt secure, we felt that we could watch one another’s back. So, when it happened to us, we were all fooled blind. We were SO STUPID!!!
I could not stop kicking myself. I could not believe it all happened so fast. We could not even remember how the women looked like. I felt suspicious that she was so agitated about wiping my back and getting me to check Carolyn’s head. Yet, it just did not occur to me to shove her out of my way between me and my bag.
I want to believe in the goodness and kindness of people. I hate to travel and live a life, forever suspicious of everyone and cyncical and sceptical about everything. But the truth is… some people are just not nice.
Oh, I LOVE my camera! I L-O-V-E IT! It had brought me so much joy on this trip. I learnt to express myself with it. I could not accept that it was now gone. People would say, it is just a camera, you can replace it. Sure, that will come later…
I realise now I have to live with my stupidity forever.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 09 december 2002
I did not sleep a wink last night. Sometimes, when people complained that they did not sleep a wink last night, they actually fell asleep by 4am or so. But, I DID NOT SLEEP a wink last night. I tossed and turned, I thought and wept the entire night. I looked up and it was morning, time to go to school.
I had not come to terms with my loss yet. I know I still felt horrible most likely because I could not forgive myself.
If it had been an attack-and-grab robbery, it would have been easier to forgive myself for it was not my fault. For sure, there was a high chance of being hurt but it would have been easier to forgive myself. But this was just O-U-R fault.
I met up with Lydia and Carolyn after class. They too did not sleep well last night, replaying the scene in their heads over and over again. We were still thoroughly devastated.
We could wallow in grief forever but we tried not to. We had to do something to distract ourselves. We visited the grand Teatro Colón which was rather interesting, with its multi-level basements of costumes, head-gears, props and shoes and even a replica of the stage for rehearsal, below Avenida 9 de Julio.
Avenida 9 de Julio is reputedly the ‘widest avenue in the world’. The landmark of Buenos Aires, the Obelisk, is in the middle of this avenue.
For several evenings the past week, I had set my camera (back when I used to own a camera) on my tripod, in the middle of the sixteen lanes of traffic, on a tiny island, trying to capture night shots with the Obelisk in the background, and the streaks of yellow and red lights by the sides and hopefully, the perfect orange across the evening sky.
Ah, those were the good old days when I had a camera… A-R-G-H!!!!
We headed to El Ateneo, a bookshop in Avenida Santa Fe which is a fully restored, converted theatre. It is elegant, exquisite and looks very, very grand. Everyone should check this bookshop out when in Buenos Aires. We sat in the café which was at the ‘stage’ area and had all the spotlights shining on our pallid faces. We simply stayed there and chatted for hours. To me, there would always be hidden gems in Buenos Aires like this, slowly to be uncovered.
That evening, over parilla a la carbon [barbecued meat], we more or less managed to hold a conversation in Spanish with a guy from the next table. Horacio actually asked if I was the translator for Carolyn and Lydia.
Whoa… first, people mistook me for the Chinese translator for Jane when we were in China. And now, even with my wonky-tonky Spanish, I was again mistaken for the translator. I guess since I looked different from the usual Western tourists, the locals just found it difficult to classify me.
Horacio is from Ushuaia or thereabouts. He offered to show me around when I get there after Christmas. Great. I mentioned that Carolyn and Lydia had just arrived from Ushuaia. His eyes lit up.
Carolyn had had some weeks of Spanish lessons in Guatemala under her belt. When asked which was her favourite place down south in Tierra del Fuego, she turned to me at once, uncertainly, “What’s… ‘we went’?” “Fuimos” I replied. Right, she explained she always used ‘I’ since she usually travelled alone, and now, ‘we’ was a problem. She turned back to Horacio and began her long, stuttering tedious hike of an answer, using the pronoun ‘we’.
I glanced around and noticed an amused old man, giggling at our struggles with conjugation and past tense. Horacio wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to stifle his laughter.
We, the tourists,
pledge to provide
entertainment
and constant merriment
to the bemused locals
so as to achieve happiness
and progress
in human communications.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 10 - 12 december 2002
I would be joking to say that I got over the incident easily. It took me days and many sleepless nights. I plunged into a state of depression that surprised even me. I wanted to throw myself in front of traffic. I would burst into tears suddenly while on the bus, in the middle of a queue at the supermarket or cooking dinner. Despite my allergy to alcohol, I took to drinking wine to get myself to sleep.
I visited Mr Huang, my acupuncturist and told him about the incident and the sleepless nights. Yes, I had gotten that settled in Buenos Aires that I had been frequenting a Chinese acupuncturist for my back problem. He stuck needles at two new spots. I barely made it home before throwing myself onto the bed and snoozing 5 hours straight that afternoon.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 13 december 2002
I passed by CITIBANK along Avenida Corrientes today. It was shuttered up and smeared senseless with graffiti. Protesters were banging the metallic shutters and nearby lamp-posts with kitchen utensils. They were chanting and yelling.
OK, ‘me robaron’ [They robbed me] vs ‘Argentina robaron’ [They robbed Argentina]. Seeing this, I realised my grieving period had come to an end.
It was time to look at the silver lining. I REALLY ought to be glad it was a stain-and-distract robbery and not an attack-and-grab robbery. Now, I just walked around with the sign ‘STUPID’ on my forehead, instead of a 3-inch scar (always assuming I could still walk).
I REALLY ought to be glad they just took the camera and left my bag. Otherwise, my journal and my little book of contacts and scribbles which I had earned along the way, including addresses written in Krygzy, Uyghur, Mongolian and Russian would be gone too. And thos TREASURED notes would be irreplaceable.
I recalled Goretti (whom I travelled with in Mongolia) who had had her entire bag stolen at the Ulaan Baator train station. I remembered Ben (whom I travelled with briefly in Russia) who had had his camera relieved from his bag when he went to the toilet and had left the bag on the bus in Nepal. Yeah, it would be great if this sort of things do not happen but they do… sometimes. That is the risk one takes while travelling.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 14 - 15 december 2002
Pablo had returned from his Patagonia trip with the Italian tourists. It was a success and he was really pleased with everything. It was his first time guiding as a tour guide, instead of as a nature guide. It was also with adult tourists, instead of children and educational groups that he was used to and it was guided entirely in Italian. Not the easiest job for there were also group dynamics to worry about and politics among the drivers and his assistant to handle. Well, the tourists loved what he had done for them and tipped him well. That was great!
He was also happy to see that Frida Baby which had been merely a bud when he left for the trip was now 12 inches long. I did not kill her.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 16 december 2002
Well, my stay in Buenos Aires would be coming to an end. I would start travelling again after Christmas. While here in Buenos Aires, I had been visiting bookshops to look for Lonely Planet guidebooks for Argentina and Chile.
I preferred LP because of the tiny maps. It was always easier to have a guideline of where to head off once outside the bus station.
But because of the economic crisis, no LP guidebooks appeared to be imported to Argentina anymore. In fact, even if I was not picky, there were hardly any proper guidebooks in English for South America.
In the end, I settled on an Argentina-Chile guidebook, printed in Spanish. It was not very good, but what could I do? I skimmed through it. Skipping those words I did not know, I more or less could still figure out what was written. I had to concentrate on every word though. It was not possible to speed-read it.
Back in Singapore, I had learnt the Spanish word ‘coger’ which means ‘to take’, ‘to catch’, ‘to grasp’, ‘to seize’, ‘to take hold of’. Innocent enough. Yet, somehow, the Latin Americans had twisted its meaning that it means ‘to f*#k’ here.
I had known this before and had simply not used this word. Pablo even forbade me to use ‘escoger’ which was ‘to choose’ for it sounded like ‘coger’. I had to choose another word for ‘to choose’.
So, it was to my greatest amusement to read the guidebook, printed innocently in Spain, and constantly spot ‘se puede coger un autobus para xxx’ [one can f*#k a bus towards xxx], ‘coged vuestros trajes de baño’ [f*#k your bathing suits], ‘coged la carretera xxx’ [f*#k the highway xxx].
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 17 december 2002
I went and bought an air-ticket to Ushuaia, leaving after Christmas. Gosh… how ARE air-tickets priced? I first asked for an air-ticket from Puerto Madryn (near Peninsula Valdez, which I wanted to go first from Buenos Aires) to Ushuaia. It would cost me 500+ Arg Pesos. But if I flew from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, with a stop-over in Puerto Madryn (which I could not get off), it would cost 300+ Arg Pesos. Longer distance for 200 Arg Pesos less.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 18 - 19 december 2002
I had my end-of-course test and I passed with flying colours… ahem!
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 20 december 2002
Today was the first-year anniversary of the history-changing events when the President of Argentina (a few of them consecutively, actually) resigned, when the Argentinian Peso plummeted, when Argentinians’ savings were robbed from them. Some people had literally dropped dead at the banks when told of the news. There had been massive demonstrations and violence on the streets, lootings, burning, beatings, killings…
A few days before, things had been a little tense around town, as many wondered if history would repeat itself this year. There were posters and graffiti telling people to hit the streets on 19 and 20 December to remember the events of last year. There were also rumours that there would be transportation strikes.
I was in Burger King when a march went by. Fearing the protesters might storm in to plunder the beef patties, lettuce and ketchup sachets, the security guards hastened to lock us in. But I wanted to go out and see the march. At the door, the guard stared at me and asked in an incredulous tone, “¿Querés salir???? [You want to leave????]” “Sí.”
Well, nothing bad happened that day. There were peaceful marches down by the Plaza de Mayo and probably, near the Palacio de Congreso to remember last year’s horrific event and to continue the ‘fight’.
Pablo and I headed to Jardín Japonés [Japanese Garden] in the evening, because Marcelo, the photographer whom I met last month, had informed me by email last week that his slide-show would be held ‘el viernes que viene’ [the coming Friday]. But to our disappointment, we could not locate anything.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 21 - 23 december 2002
I emailed to Marcelo to tell him that we went to the Jardín Japonés on Friday but could not find him. His nonchalant reply was, “Oh, what a shame. It was actually held on Thursday, not Friday.”
I did not know if I should laugh or cry. In a way, Pablo and I were very disappointed he gave me the wrong day and we did not get the chance to see the slide-show of his excellent photos.
But, on the other hand, this type of mix-up was so latino, if I may say so. Back in my country, I would have found it unforgiveable. But here, I just felt somewhat amused by it all.
Promises, appointments, plans were peppered vaguely with ‘Quizás’ [Perhaps], ‘Tal vez’ [Maybe], ‘Creo que si’ (I believe so), ‘No seguro' [Not sure], ‘No sé’ [I do not know], ‘Puede ser’ [Can be], ‘Nos vemos’ [We shall see each other…] and a personal favourite ‘Mañana’ [Tomorrow].
If they say they will call at 8pm, they mean about 2 hours after 8pm, if at all. If they say they want to do this thing today, they mean they want to do this thing… in this lifetime… or tomorrow, if it is possible… I learnt that this had been diagnosed by others before me as the Mañana syndrome.
Nothing is ever certain. Life remains a constant mystery. I have to get used to this but I like it… maybe… I think so…
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 24 december 2002
Over the past few days, from a Sunday lunch to a nephew’s birthday, I had slowly met the rest of Pablo’s wonderful family members.
It would be excellent to spend Christmas Eve with his nephews and niece.
I was surprised to learn that his youngest nephews still believed in Santa Claus. I myself cannot remember if I ever believed in Santa Claus. In Asian culture, or at least in my family, we just did not grow up with the Santa Claus myth, ever.
So, the rest of the family had to put up a ‘show’ for them tonight. OK, Tomás is two, practically a baby. So, I was looking forward to seeing Nicolás’ (who is six) reaction when Papa Noel arrive tonight. Between drinks and cakes, the boys ran around the house, chanting “¡Faltan 25 / 14 / 5 minutos!” [25 / 14 / 5 minutes left!]
We counted down to Christmas. Buenos Aires burst into life with fireworks all around. We distracted the children by taking them up to the roof to look at the fireworks and the stars. Meanwhile, the adults downstairs laid out the gifts and Pablo’s brother, Sergio transformed himself into Papa Noel.
Pablo got them to shout for Papa Noel over and over again up on the roof. Then, we spread rumours that Papa Noel was already here.
The children rushed downstairs to the living room excitedly. The lights were off. A very ugly Papa Noel stood next to the Christmas tree.
Gosh, I would never forget the look on Nicolás’ face as he gazed in amazement at Papa Noel. The perfect ‘O’-shape formed on his mouth. His eyes practically popped out and glowed in awe. He was hopping up and down in pure excitement. He was trying to see Papa Noel clearly. Yet, he dared not approach him.
A few quick words, ho-ho-ho… a show of the presents, Papa Noel waved goodbye and left. Nicolás tried to run after him, but some relative blocked his way. The lights came on and everyone pounced on the presents, searching for their names.
Oh, the precious look on Nicolás’ face will symbolise, to me, the magic that we still want to believe in life. How wonderful things (like presents) will continue to fall in our ways. How wishes and dreams will happen if we work towards them (like behaving yourself, for Papa Noel is watching). He is so sweet. What an angel!
To my surprise, there were presents for me too.
In the rest of the Spanish-speaking world, the pronunciation for ‘y’ and ‘ll’ was ‘y’ (or a soft ‘j’). So, ‘yo’ would be ‘yo’ (or ‘jo’) and ‘llave’ would be ‘ya-vey’ (or ‘ja-vey’).
In Argentina, I do not know why but they were pronounced as ‘sh’. So, ‘yo’ was ‘sho’ and ‘llave’ was ‘sha-vey’.
Imagine, I had to convert in my mind all the words with ‘y’ and ‘ll’ I learnt previously to what were used here in Buenos Aires. I had to mind-map everything when I listened to the Argentinians. And I would have to undo all these changes once I leave Argentina.
And so, my presents were addressed to ‘TRILLA’ - my Argentinian name.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 25 - 26 december 2002
I decided to stock up on books here for my coming three-month trip toggling between Argentina and Chile. I did not plan on going to Santiago, Chile. Hence, my chance of obtaining good English books later on in my trip in the nature reserves, national parks and Andean towns appeared to hover around ‘zero’.
I had mentioned that intellectual Buenos Aires is a bookstore paradise. The choice of good Spanish books was incredible. If I could read decent Spanish, I would have stuffed myself silly, swiftly devoured the books long ago. But I could not.
The choice of English books here was not too bad, frankly, compared to, say, Moscow. But one thing very obvious in the bookstores I found in Russia, Brazil and now, Argentina, was the sheer number of classics available.
Did the non-English-as-first-language population seriously think we read ‘Bleak House’ for leisure? The huge variety of classics (and extremely cheap too) on sale seemed to perpetuate a myth that we could quote Shakespeare in our everyday conversations (“Is this a butter knife I see before me? Come, let me clutch thee.”), boast of the entire Jane Austen collection on our shelves and know of the intimate details of 18th century country-living and ways and means to procure husbands for our daughters.
Just a thought, wouldn’t the poor dears be so discouraged from ever picking up an English book, if their first exposure to English books had been these classics?
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 27 december 2002
I bought a new camera today. Finally. On my last day in Buenos Aires too.
To be honest, for the past two weeks, I had been scouting around. I poked my nose into camera shops. I made inquiries. I lusted after lenses. I baulked at the prices. I kicked myself again. I turned to Buddha to remind myself ‘Craving causes suffering’. I readjusted the ‘STUPID’ sign on my forehead lest people should miss it. I made mental sums. I rolled my eyeballs. Yeah, the works.
I settled on a particular shop because Rodrigo, the salesman, had appeared to be helpful and trustworthy. However, Rodrigo, or his supplier as he would have me believed, suffered from the Mañana syndrome. So, mañana became ‘Sunday’ became mañana became ‘Christmas Eve’ became ‘Christmas Day’ became mañana became ‘my last day in Buenos Aires’.
When faced with the mañana man, one had to douse oneself with a generous spray of the ‘Qué sera sera’ [Whatever will be will be] attitude.
I had earned myself the ‘Most Frequent Visitor’ title that when the sale was finally executed, Rodrigo gave me a strong hug, kissed my cheek and made me promise to visit the shop with my photos when I returned to Buenos Aires in March. Then, he just had to reach over and give me another hug and plant another smacker on my cheek.
Well, sometimes one did not know what one might miss until one had left the place. I spent today wandering around my old haunts, lunching on a bife (beef-steak) which I had not had for a while, splurging on yet another helado (ice-cream) and taking stock of the idiosyncracies of Buenos Aires again.
Buenos Aires has been great. Truly a city that never sleeps. It has its dark sides and I had had a bad incident but Buenos Aires has really been wonderful. I truly love it here. I hope I had managed to convey the essence of Buenos Aires to the readers over these two months. There would be plenty of things I would miss, for sure.
Well, hasta luego, nos vemos… [Until later, we see each other…]
The street vendors and buskers have been back along Calles Florida and Lavalle for the past week now. I am not sure if the police had lifted the ‘ban’ (which lasted a whopping 10 days or so) or the vendors just kept coming back that the police had given up trying to fight them.
I also saw children 8 to 10 years old, trying to play accordions for pesos. The poor dears, they had barely mastered the instruments and now they were most likely sent to the streets by their parents to make a living.
At many traffic junctions, one could see jugglers, clowns or performers who twirled a stick with two sticks. They would rush to the front of traffic at each red-light and perform their routines. Then, the guys went around to collect some change from the drivers before they drove off. Again, it pained me to see children jugglers.
The Argentinian government had introduced two new ‘currencies’ since the crisis - the patacones and lecops. One could see some shops stating that they accepted patacones and lecops, while others claimed they did not accept patacones and lecops.
These ‘currencies’ looked like Monopoly play-money. People would earn their salary in combinations of pesos, patacones and lecops. These are paper-money printed for the sake of increasing circulation without having real Arg Pesos. However, only certain shops accept patacones and lecops and these currencies exist only in Buenos Aires. One could not spend them in other parts of Argentina.
Frida baby had grown to a whooping 10.5 inches long and seemed to be holding for now.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 08 december 2002
I had met an Australian girl briefly in Mexico in 2000. Carolyn was then on a RTW trip for about a year. She had returned to Australia to work for a few months and was now on another long trip of about eight months. To my surprise, she had written that she was coming to Buenos Aires with her friend, Lydia!
They arrived last night and we arranged to meet today. Imagine, we had kept in touch via email since we first met very briefly in Mexico and now we were meeting each other again, not in HER city not in MY city but in ANOTHER city on the other side of the globe, again! It was incredible.
Lydia, Carolyn and I clicked immediately. Lydia had just started on her one-year RTW trip too. The three of us had many things in common, our frequencies were exactly the same, we could not stop talking and sharing our experiences. They were both well-travelled and had tons of stories to share. We were laughing all the time.
It would had been a wonderful, perfect day had it not been spoiled later by a robbery.
First, we noticed a smell. Lydia felt her hair and out came a gooey, oily stuff with a horrible stench. I checked my bag. It was similarly stained with that gross stuff. Lydia figured someone threw something out of the window. I set my bag down to clean it. Carolyn had that stuff trickling down her back.
Two women were nearby and appeared to be similarly stained. They came over, asking if we had paper or water. Naturally, we opened our bags to retrieve them for the women. Soon, they got us checking their backs and one women stood between me and my bag and started wiping my back.
Then, they were gone. I looked at my bag. It was open and I was now missing my camera!
AARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! This was the famous stain-and-distract trick! We had all heard about it. We had all been warned about it. Carolyn had had been stained once in her trip and she was quick enough then to disengage herself from the culprits. We were all relatively experienced travellers. Because we were in a group, we felt secure, we felt that we could watch one another’s back. So, when it happened to us, we were all fooled blind. We were SO STUPID!!!
I could not stop kicking myself. I could not believe it all happened so fast. We could not even remember how the women looked like. I felt suspicious that she was so agitated about wiping my back and getting me to check Carolyn’s head. Yet, it just did not occur to me to shove her out of my way between me and my bag.
I want to believe in the goodness and kindness of people. I hate to travel and live a life, forever suspicious of everyone and cyncical and sceptical about everything. But the truth is… some people are just not nice.
Oh, I LOVE my camera! I L-O-V-E IT! It had brought me so much joy on this trip. I learnt to express myself with it. I could not accept that it was now gone. People would say, it is just a camera, you can replace it. Sure, that will come later…
I realise now I have to live with my stupidity forever.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 09 december 2002
I did not sleep a wink last night. Sometimes, when people complained that they did not sleep a wink last night, they actually fell asleep by 4am or so. But, I DID NOT SLEEP a wink last night. I tossed and turned, I thought and wept the entire night. I looked up and it was morning, time to go to school.
I had not come to terms with my loss yet. I know I still felt horrible most likely because I could not forgive myself.
If it had been an attack-and-grab robbery, it would have been easier to forgive myself for it was not my fault. For sure, there was a high chance of being hurt but it would have been easier to forgive myself. But this was just O-U-R fault.
I met up with Lydia and Carolyn after class. They too did not sleep well last night, replaying the scene in their heads over and over again. We were still thoroughly devastated.
We could wallow in grief forever but we tried not to. We had to do something to distract ourselves. We visited the grand Teatro Colón which was rather interesting, with its multi-level basements of costumes, head-gears, props and shoes and even a replica of the stage for rehearsal, below Avenida 9 de Julio.
Avenida 9 de Julio is reputedly the ‘widest avenue in the world’. The landmark of Buenos Aires, the Obelisk, is in the middle of this avenue.
For several evenings the past week, I had set my camera (back when I used to own a camera) on my tripod, in the middle of the sixteen lanes of traffic, on a tiny island, trying to capture night shots with the Obelisk in the background, and the streaks of yellow and red lights by the sides and hopefully, the perfect orange across the evening sky.
Ah, those were the good old days when I had a camera… A-R-G-H!!!!
We headed to El Ateneo, a bookshop in Avenida Santa Fe which is a fully restored, converted theatre. It is elegant, exquisite and looks very, very grand. Everyone should check this bookshop out when in Buenos Aires. We sat in the café which was at the ‘stage’ area and had all the spotlights shining on our pallid faces. We simply stayed there and chatted for hours. To me, there would always be hidden gems in Buenos Aires like this, slowly to be uncovered.
That evening, over parilla a la carbon [barbecued meat], we more or less managed to hold a conversation in Spanish with a guy from the next table. Horacio actually asked if I was the translator for Carolyn and Lydia.
Whoa… first, people mistook me for the Chinese translator for Jane when we were in China. And now, even with my wonky-tonky Spanish, I was again mistaken for the translator. I guess since I looked different from the usual Western tourists, the locals just found it difficult to classify me.
Horacio is from Ushuaia or thereabouts. He offered to show me around when I get there after Christmas. Great. I mentioned that Carolyn and Lydia had just arrived from Ushuaia. His eyes lit up.
Carolyn had had some weeks of Spanish lessons in Guatemala under her belt. When asked which was her favourite place down south in Tierra del Fuego, she turned to me at once, uncertainly, “What’s… ‘we went’?” “Fuimos” I replied. Right, she explained she always used ‘I’ since she usually travelled alone, and now, ‘we’ was a problem. She turned back to Horacio and began her long, stuttering tedious hike of an answer, using the pronoun ‘we’.
I glanced around and noticed an amused old man, giggling at our struggles with conjugation and past tense. Horacio wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to stifle his laughter.
We, the tourists,
pledge to provide
entertainment
and constant merriment
to the bemused locals
so as to achieve happiness
and progress
in human communications.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 10 - 12 december 2002
I would be joking to say that I got over the incident easily. It took me days and many sleepless nights. I plunged into a state of depression that surprised even me. I wanted to throw myself in front of traffic. I would burst into tears suddenly while on the bus, in the middle of a queue at the supermarket or cooking dinner. Despite my allergy to alcohol, I took to drinking wine to get myself to sleep.
I visited Mr Huang, my acupuncturist and told him about the incident and the sleepless nights. Yes, I had gotten that settled in Buenos Aires that I had been frequenting a Chinese acupuncturist for my back problem. He stuck needles at two new spots. I barely made it home before throwing myself onto the bed and snoozing 5 hours straight that afternoon.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 13 december 2002
I passed by CITIBANK along Avenida Corrientes today. It was shuttered up and smeared senseless with graffiti. Protesters were banging the metallic shutters and nearby lamp-posts with kitchen utensils. They were chanting and yelling.
OK, ‘me robaron’ [They robbed me] vs ‘Argentina robaron’ [They robbed Argentina]. Seeing this, I realised my grieving period had come to an end.
It was time to look at the silver lining. I REALLY ought to be glad it was a stain-and-distract robbery and not an attack-and-grab robbery. Now, I just walked around with the sign ‘STUPID’ on my forehead, instead of a 3-inch scar (always assuming I could still walk).
I REALLY ought to be glad they just took the camera and left my bag. Otherwise, my journal and my little book of contacts and scribbles which I had earned along the way, including addresses written in Krygzy, Uyghur, Mongolian and Russian would be gone too. And thos TREASURED notes would be irreplaceable.
I recalled Goretti (whom I travelled with in Mongolia) who had had her entire bag stolen at the Ulaan Baator train station. I remembered Ben (whom I travelled with briefly in Russia) who had had his camera relieved from his bag when he went to the toilet and had left the bag on the bus in Nepal. Yeah, it would be great if this sort of things do not happen but they do… sometimes. That is the risk one takes while travelling.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 14 - 15 december 2002
Pablo had returned from his Patagonia trip with the Italian tourists. It was a success and he was really pleased with everything. It was his first time guiding as a tour guide, instead of as a nature guide. It was also with adult tourists, instead of children and educational groups that he was used to and it was guided entirely in Italian. Not the easiest job for there were also group dynamics to worry about and politics among the drivers and his assistant to handle. Well, the tourists loved what he had done for them and tipped him well. That was great!
He was also happy to see that Frida Baby which had been merely a bud when he left for the trip was now 12 inches long. I did not kill her.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 16 december 2002
Well, my stay in Buenos Aires would be coming to an end. I would start travelling again after Christmas. While here in Buenos Aires, I had been visiting bookshops to look for Lonely Planet guidebooks for Argentina and Chile.
I preferred LP because of the tiny maps. It was always easier to have a guideline of where to head off once outside the bus station.
But because of the economic crisis, no LP guidebooks appeared to be imported to Argentina anymore. In fact, even if I was not picky, there were hardly any proper guidebooks in English for South America.
In the end, I settled on an Argentina-Chile guidebook, printed in Spanish. It was not very good, but what could I do? I skimmed through it. Skipping those words I did not know, I more or less could still figure out what was written. I had to concentrate on every word though. It was not possible to speed-read it.
Back in Singapore, I had learnt the Spanish word ‘coger’ which means ‘to take’, ‘to catch’, ‘to grasp’, ‘to seize’, ‘to take hold of’. Innocent enough. Yet, somehow, the Latin Americans had twisted its meaning that it means ‘to f*#k’ here.
I had known this before and had simply not used this word. Pablo even forbade me to use ‘escoger’ which was ‘to choose’ for it sounded like ‘coger’. I had to choose another word for ‘to choose’.
So, it was to my greatest amusement to read the guidebook, printed innocently in Spain, and constantly spot ‘se puede coger un autobus para xxx’ [one can f*#k a bus towards xxx], ‘coged vuestros trajes de baño’ [f*#k your bathing suits], ‘coged la carretera xxx’ [f*#k the highway xxx].
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 17 december 2002
I went and bought an air-ticket to Ushuaia, leaving after Christmas. Gosh… how ARE air-tickets priced? I first asked for an air-ticket from Puerto Madryn (near Peninsula Valdez, which I wanted to go first from Buenos Aires) to Ushuaia. It would cost me 500+ Arg Pesos. But if I flew from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, with a stop-over in Puerto Madryn (which I could not get off), it would cost 300+ Arg Pesos. Longer distance for 200 Arg Pesos less.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 18 - 19 december 2002
I had my end-of-course test and I passed with flying colours… ahem!
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 20 december 2002
Today was the first-year anniversary of the history-changing events when the President of Argentina (a few of them consecutively, actually) resigned, when the Argentinian Peso plummeted, when Argentinians’ savings were robbed from them. Some people had literally dropped dead at the banks when told of the news. There had been massive demonstrations and violence on the streets, lootings, burning, beatings, killings…
A few days before, things had been a little tense around town, as many wondered if history would repeat itself this year. There were posters and graffiti telling people to hit the streets on 19 and 20 December to remember the events of last year. There were also rumours that there would be transportation strikes.
I was in Burger King when a march went by. Fearing the protesters might storm in to plunder the beef patties, lettuce and ketchup sachets, the security guards hastened to lock us in. But I wanted to go out and see the march. At the door, the guard stared at me and asked in an incredulous tone, “¿Querés salir???? [You want to leave????]” “Sí.”
Well, nothing bad happened that day. There were peaceful marches down by the Plaza de Mayo and probably, near the Palacio de Congreso to remember last year’s horrific event and to continue the ‘fight’.
Pablo and I headed to Jardín Japonés [Japanese Garden] in the evening, because Marcelo, the photographer whom I met last month, had informed me by email last week that his slide-show would be held ‘el viernes que viene’ [the coming Friday]. But to our disappointment, we could not locate anything.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 21 - 23 december 2002
I emailed to Marcelo to tell him that we went to the Jardín Japonés on Friday but could not find him. His nonchalant reply was, “Oh, what a shame. It was actually held on Thursday, not Friday.”
I did not know if I should laugh or cry. In a way, Pablo and I were very disappointed he gave me the wrong day and we did not get the chance to see the slide-show of his excellent photos.
But, on the other hand, this type of mix-up was so latino, if I may say so. Back in my country, I would have found it unforgiveable. But here, I just felt somewhat amused by it all.
Promises, appointments, plans were peppered vaguely with ‘Quizás’ [Perhaps], ‘Tal vez’ [Maybe], ‘Creo que si’ (I believe so), ‘No seguro' [Not sure], ‘No sé’ [I do not know], ‘Puede ser’ [Can be], ‘Nos vemos’ [We shall see each other…] and a personal favourite ‘Mañana’ [Tomorrow].
If they say they will call at 8pm, they mean about 2 hours after 8pm, if at all. If they say they want to do this thing today, they mean they want to do this thing… in this lifetime… or tomorrow, if it is possible… I learnt that this had been diagnosed by others before me as the Mañana syndrome.
Nothing is ever certain. Life remains a constant mystery. I have to get used to this but I like it… maybe… I think so…
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 24 december 2002
Over the past few days, from a Sunday lunch to a nephew’s birthday, I had slowly met the rest of Pablo’s wonderful family members.
It would be excellent to spend Christmas Eve with his nephews and niece.
I was surprised to learn that his youngest nephews still believed in Santa Claus. I myself cannot remember if I ever believed in Santa Claus. In Asian culture, or at least in my family, we just did not grow up with the Santa Claus myth, ever.
So, the rest of the family had to put up a ‘show’ for them tonight. OK, Tomás is two, practically a baby. So, I was looking forward to seeing Nicolás’ (who is six) reaction when Papa Noel arrive tonight. Between drinks and cakes, the boys ran around the house, chanting “¡Faltan 25 / 14 / 5 minutos!” [25 / 14 / 5 minutes left!]
We counted down to Christmas. Buenos Aires burst into life with fireworks all around. We distracted the children by taking them up to the roof to look at the fireworks and the stars. Meanwhile, the adults downstairs laid out the gifts and Pablo’s brother, Sergio transformed himself into Papa Noel.
Pablo got them to shout for Papa Noel over and over again up on the roof. Then, we spread rumours that Papa Noel was already here.
The children rushed downstairs to the living room excitedly. The lights were off. A very ugly Papa Noel stood next to the Christmas tree.
Gosh, I would never forget the look on Nicolás’ face as he gazed in amazement at Papa Noel. The perfect ‘O’-shape formed on his mouth. His eyes practically popped out and glowed in awe. He was hopping up and down in pure excitement. He was trying to see Papa Noel clearly. Yet, he dared not approach him.
A few quick words, ho-ho-ho… a show of the presents, Papa Noel waved goodbye and left. Nicolás tried to run after him, but some relative blocked his way. The lights came on and everyone pounced on the presents, searching for their names.
Oh, the precious look on Nicolás’ face will symbolise, to me, the magic that we still want to believe in life. How wonderful things (like presents) will continue to fall in our ways. How wishes and dreams will happen if we work towards them (like behaving yourself, for Papa Noel is watching). He is so sweet. What an angel!
To my surprise, there were presents for me too.
In the rest of the Spanish-speaking world, the pronunciation for ‘y’ and ‘ll’ was ‘y’ (or a soft ‘j’). So, ‘yo’ would be ‘yo’ (or ‘jo’) and ‘llave’ would be ‘ya-vey’ (or ‘ja-vey’).
In Argentina, I do not know why but they were pronounced as ‘sh’. So, ‘yo’ was ‘sho’ and ‘llave’ was ‘sha-vey’.
Imagine, I had to convert in my mind all the words with ‘y’ and ‘ll’ I learnt previously to what were used here in Buenos Aires. I had to mind-map everything when I listened to the Argentinians. And I would have to undo all these changes once I leave Argentina.
And so, my presents were addressed to ‘TRILLA’ - my Argentinian name.
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 25 - 26 december 2002
I decided to stock up on books here for my coming three-month trip toggling between Argentina and Chile. I did not plan on going to Santiago, Chile. Hence, my chance of obtaining good English books later on in my trip in the nature reserves, national parks and Andean towns appeared to hover around ‘zero’.
I had mentioned that intellectual Buenos Aires is a bookstore paradise. The choice of good Spanish books was incredible. If I could read decent Spanish, I would have stuffed myself silly, swiftly devoured the books long ago. But I could not.
The choice of English books here was not too bad, frankly, compared to, say, Moscow. But one thing very obvious in the bookstores I found in Russia, Brazil and now, Argentina, was the sheer number of classics available.
Did the non-English-as-first-language population seriously think we read ‘Bleak House’ for leisure? The huge variety of classics (and extremely cheap too) on sale seemed to perpetuate a myth that we could quote Shakespeare in our everyday conversations (“Is this a butter knife I see before me? Come, let me clutch thee.”), boast of the entire Jane Austen collection on our shelves and know of the intimate details of 18th century country-living and ways and means to procure husbands for our daughters.
Just a thought, wouldn’t the poor dears be so discouraged from ever picking up an English book, if their first exposure to English books had been these classics?
Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 27 december 2002
I bought a new camera today. Finally. On my last day in Buenos Aires too.
To be honest, for the past two weeks, I had been scouting around. I poked my nose into camera shops. I made inquiries. I lusted after lenses. I baulked at the prices. I kicked myself again. I turned to Buddha to remind myself ‘Craving causes suffering’. I readjusted the ‘STUPID’ sign on my forehead lest people should miss it. I made mental sums. I rolled my eyeballs. Yeah, the works.
I settled on a particular shop because Rodrigo, the salesman, had appeared to be helpful and trustworthy. However, Rodrigo, or his supplier as he would have me believed, suffered from the Mañana syndrome. So, mañana became ‘Sunday’ became mañana became ‘Christmas Eve’ became ‘Christmas Day’ became mañana became ‘my last day in Buenos Aires’.
When faced with the mañana man, one had to douse oneself with a generous spray of the ‘Qué sera sera’ [Whatever will be will be] attitude.
I had earned myself the ‘Most Frequent Visitor’ title that when the sale was finally executed, Rodrigo gave me a strong hug, kissed my cheek and made me promise to visit the shop with my photos when I returned to Buenos Aires in March. Then, he just had to reach over and give me another hug and plant another smacker on my cheek.
Well, sometimes one did not know what one might miss until one had left the place. I spent today wandering around my old haunts, lunching on a bife (beef-steak) which I had not had for a while, splurging on yet another helado (ice-cream) and taking stock of the idiosyncracies of Buenos Aires again.
Buenos Aires has been great. Truly a city that never sleeps. It has its dark sides and I had had a bad incident but Buenos Aires has really been wonderful. I truly love it here. I hope I had managed to convey the essence of Buenos Aires to the readers over these two months. There would be plenty of things I would miss, for sure.
Well, hasta luego, nos vemos… [Until later, we see each other…]
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