Tuesday, January 28, 2003

22 - Trisha vs. The Volcano (Villarrica)

Villarrica, CHILE - 25 january 2003

This morning, the sky was still cloudy but everything cleared up by noon. I could see the bottom flattish cone shape of the volcano but the top bit was still immersed in clouds.

I spent this very beautiful summer day, walking around the town, sitting in parks and reading. Finally, ladies here were showing off their figures, whether they should or not, in skimpy, sexy summer tops. Like, NOW I own a scarf?

From the park, I kept an eye out for the top of the volcano and when it peered from the clouds, I headed to the beach to sit by there and enjoy the view. Volcán Villarrica is one of the active volcanoes in Chile. It last erupted in 1984. The crater was smoking away sinisterly. Tomorrow, I would try and climb it.

Well, to me, food in Chile was rather expensive. I could be Empanada Girl (empanada is meat, veggie or cheese pastry) or I could cook occasionally.

That evening as I prepared dinner, an inquisitive Argentinian middle-aged lady hovered around the kitchen, seemingly spying on me. Finally, she confessed to trying to learn the finer tips of Chinese cooking from me.

Who?? Me?? Er… before this trip, I DID NOT DO kitchen. I grabbed Coca-Cola from the fridge, I reached for a fruit but I DID NOT DO kitchen.

She then asked me the name of the dish. What?? This t-h-i-n-g?? It’s called go-to-supermercado-buy-some-veggies-n-sausage-stir-fry-n-pray. I had no soy sauce, no pepper, no sesame oil, no sweet and sour sauce, no chili paste, no corn-starch, no oyster sauce, no curry powder, no BBQ sauce, no salt even… NOTHING. This must be the most bastardized Chinese cooking in the entire world.

She pressed on, asking if I had added salt to my rice. No, rice is eaten plain. She started to frown slightly. Not even a LITTLE salt? I think she suspected that I was not being honest with her and that I was trying to keep the finer tips of Chinese cooking from her.


Villarrica, CHILE - 26 january 2003

Today, Volcán Villarrica. It was perfect weather this morning when my travel agency picked me up at 6:30am. The view of pink clouds and orange sky as the sun rose behind the volcano was gorgeous.

Our group was driven to Pucon, a more touristy town nearer to the volcano, and spent some time trying out the jackets and pants. We would be issued water-proof boots if we wanted.

My boots had sprung two leaks so far on this trip. The leather had long withered away. Please last another three months to the end of my trip and then, they would turn eight years old, which in HUMAN years would be… eight years old, and I would write them off. They were so not water-proof and hence, I changed into these chunky ones that the company issued. They were really tough and inflexible. They seriously wanted to protect our ankles. I could hardly walk in them when heading down steps.

At around 9am, we arrived at the base of the volcano. The sky still looked gorgeous. We had congratulated ourselves about our good fortune with the weather but the guides informed us the weather was going to turn bad soon. There was a forecast of rain and clouds. Gosh, we would never have guessed.

Juan, one of the guides, explained that we would take the chairlift higher up and then, take about 3 to 4 hours to climb up to the crater. As this was a tourist group, we would go slow and stop every 30 or 45 minutes to drink some water, eat energy bars, apply sun-screen, take photos.

However, the first guide leading the way, Claudio, was marching up at an incredible speed and very soon, the group was split into two. I was at the end of the first group. We zigzagged up the snow without rest. He explained to us that because of the coming foul weather, he would prefer to walk really fast. We would stop after 1 hour of hiking at a lava section, rest for 10 minutes and then, head off again. At this speed, he explained, we could summit in 2 hours. 2 hours??? Back in town, my hostel lady had said 5 hours. Then, Juan said 3 to 4 hours and now, Claudio expected us to get there in 2 hours. Those who were slow, he said, should drop back and join Juan’s group.

At the first stop after 1 hour of climbing, we paused for a while to enjoy the view of being above the clouds. The view was incredible. We could see a few lakes from up there and right opposite us, another volcano. Some tourists joked that we would climb the other one in the afternoon.

I barely had time for two squares of my chocolate bar before Claudio commanded, “¡Vamos! [Let’s go!]”. I waited for the rest of the ‘fast’ group to go ahead before walking behind them. Soon, the ‘fast’ group was also split into two. The rest were way up there but there were four stragglers. One German middle-aged guy, Uli, told me he would stay with me. He explained, “Rule #1 in Mountaineering: Never walk alone.”

Well, I could cope at Uli’s pace as he was very kind to walk moderately and stop occasionally to wait for me. I was not so much winded from the climb. I was just nervous about the snow, afraid of the wind and physically very tired. We pressed on.

Unlike glacier which was compacted snow, normal snow could give way under your weight. And with all the chunkiness on me, I sometimes could not get the momentum to climb up the next steeper step. A few times, I slipped.

I was very inexperienced with snow. I had seen snow, of course, a few times… and I had stepped on and off snow twice or so but seriously walking up a snowy slope - first time. Yeah, I had been really deprived, hadn’t I? Just my luck to be born and raised in a tropical, sun-drenched island paradise.

Soon, we overtook the other two stragglers - a Dutch guy and a Swiss girl. At least they were still walking together. See Rule #1 in Mountaineering. It got very cold and windy. The wind was not the sudden gusts of surprises like in Torres del Paine. It was consistent, relentless, and freezing cold.

I fought against the icy wind and coped with the slippery, unsteady snow as best as I could. We were soon surrounded by clouds. Everything was white. I looked up and we had totally lost sight of the ‘fast’ group. Many times, I was not even sure which was the trail. There was a sense of panic rising within me.

My hands had turned black. I had no idea what the first symptons of frostbite were and I did not wish to find out. It was only when we arrived at some exposed lava that I felt safe enough to stand on it (for, unlike snow, it would not give way easily), set my backpack down and frantically hunt for my gloves.

Another tour group was right behind us and the tour guide of that group told us it was 15 minutes to the crater. This was excellent news! But, down below, Uli saw the Dutch guy and Swiss girl turn back. The slower group with Juan had also U-turned. Another tour group which we had passed by earlier had long disappeared from sight. It was very unnerving to stand unsteadily on a snowy slope, being whipped around by the harsh wind, unsure if you could make it up to the top safely and yet, see little dots of people heading back. And when you looked up, you could see nothing ahead for everything WAS white.

We trailed behind the guide of this group for security and cleared the rest of the steep slope slowly until we detected the smell of sulphur. Officially, I was the LAST person of that day to arrive at the crater. Gosh, we departed from sea-level at around 8+am and reached 2800+m now!

A Scottish lady told us that yesterday’s group had reached the crater at 1:15pm. Our group arrived at 11:10am. It had been a very punishing hike for us all. But the weather yesterday had been great.

Surrounded by clouds, we could see nothing. The crater looked a little smokey but it could just be the moving clouds. I hugged Uli. He was my angel. Without him, I would not have made it. It was rather dangerous for the group to split up with no person officially taking on the ‘last man’ role. Uli, with his experience in mountaineering, had installed himself as so for my sake.

After ONE empanada, Claudio commanded, “¡Vamos!” again. If I did not eat, how was I to get energy? I guessed he had to hurry for fear of the safety of the group. The weather was really terrible now. He was now alone with us. Mónica, the third guide, had long turned back with Uli’s wife before the first hour of climbing. Juan was with the second group. He made an English guy the last man this time, and then he said the slowest one would go first. That sounded like me. I was making my way forward when he called out, “Singapore! Where are you? Come!”

I was a disaster at going down. Was it just me? Say, if you need to take a step down, the other leg would need to bend at the knee but in such a way that the shin is slightly forward, at an angle to the foot, right? But I could not get my shin forward at an angle because the chunky boots were tough. I also needed to slam with my heels down first. But, to me, the steps were too low for me to reach it with my heels down first without falling over. I just could not balance myself nor walk down. I was a complete disaster!

My left knee, busted in Torres del Paine, returned to haunt me. My right knee simply froze up. At one point, I slipped down the slope quite a distance. Ice-axe or not, I had no idea how to use it to stop the sliding. Claudio had to come rescue me.

We arrived at one point and Claudio said, “OK, everyone hold the ice-axe this way and slide down the slope! GO!!” We took turns and slid down. We alternated between sliding and walking. During the walking bit, I was literally dragged down the slope by Claudio.

Sliding down was really an incredible experience. Sometimes, it was steep, we flew down effortlessly but barely able to keep in line. The wall next to us at some sections were rather high. Other times, it was not very steep and with the accumulated snow in front of our butts, we could not slide further. Momentum, if my Physics did not fail me, required mass multiplied by speed or something. With a smallish mass, I did not have the momentum to slide down some slope and needed a boost from behind. At one point, the Scottish lady attached herself behind me and together, we flew down at an amazing speed. I had no idea which was the sky, which was the snow.

Claudio was standing at the distance and he yelled, “STOP!!”. The Scottish lady skewed to the left. I skidded to the right, only to land mere inches from a STEEP snow cliff! A Danish guy totally flew off the cliff and tumbled about 2 metres down!

My goodness… it was really scary. Finally, at long last, we made it to the chairlift. Another Danish guy, this one with Juan’s group, was being strapped up there. He had twisted his ankle while trying to slow down at one of the slopes. He had used his ankle against the wall of the snow. Nope, guess that was not the way.

We all lived to tell. I, barely. But all of us agreed, it was an extremely amazing experience, albeit a little dangerous too.


Villarrica, CHILE - 27 january 2003

My ninth month anniversary today. Battered, busted and bruised from nine months of travelling and especially from yesterday’s tortuous climb, what should I treat myself to today? A thermal, relaxing pool in this volcanic region of Chile sounded like a splendid idea.

The problem was the thermal pools were all out of the way, a huge distance from the main highways and hidden amidst the woods. One needed one’s own transportation. In the end, the only option open to me was to take a bus to Pucon, another bus towards Curarrehue, hop off at Catripulli and walk 2 km to Termas San Luis.

Normally, I would not really recommend Termas San Luis for it was a like a luxurious resort and the pools were those proper swimming pool-sort. I would have preferred to bathe in a natural pool. But I had no choice.

I got my money’s worth by submerging as long as possible in the warm mineral waters. They promised something about rejuvenation of muscles and eternal youth, didn’t they? Sulphates, chlorides, nitrates, magnesium… HEAL.

Soon, I got to chatting with two Chilean families, one from Viña del Mar and the other from Valdivia, who were very curious about me and were delighted that I spoke some Spanish. They made many inquiries… and no, I do not know kung fu.

The pool was rather small. At one point, I noticed that half the people at the swimming pool were chuckling and nodding away at the same time as these two families and realised nearly everyone was listening in. Sheesh…

The Viña del Mar family gave me their contact just in case I decided to hop by Viña del Mar. The Valdivia family offered to give me a lift back to Pucon. Even standing at the gate, waiting for the Valdivia family to be ready, a few fellow pool-sharers came up to me to wish me all the best for the rest of my trip! Chileans were really sweet.


Lican Ray, Villarrica to Santiago, CHILE - 28 january 2003

I decided to spend the day at a town south of Villarrica, Lican Ray. This town, although lacking a volcano view in front, had a great black sand beach, in front of Lago Calafquen.

I had just sat down for 2 minutes before spotting the Viña del Mar family amongst the hundreds of Chilean bathers at the beach. What a coincidence!

They were granny Adriana, daddy Enríque, wife Fabiola, daughter Katya, son Sebastian and sister of Enríque, Jessica. They were fantastic. Tremendously friendly and kind.

They struggled with my name ‘Trisha’, for in Spanish, except for ‘h’ behind ‘c’ which forms a separate alphabet ‘ch’, ‘h’ is always silent. They twisted and tripped their tongues over it. But they had no problems with my Chinese name ‘Wei Xin’, and they pronounced merrily with the right intonation too.

They kept encouraging me to go to Viña del Mar and that they would put me up at their house. OK, as I was going to Santiago tonight to settle some business, I would indeed make the detour to Viña del Mar for a visit. Gosh, everyone had been great to me.

Friday, January 24, 2003

22 - Trisha vs. The Volcano (Chiloe Island)

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.

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…

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!

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.

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.