Sunday, March 14, 2004
After two days of flying, we´ve landed back in Bariloche. In the next few days we will cross over (yet again) to Chile. For now we are enjoying the warmer weather and faster internet that this portion of country provides. Raegan and I have come to realize that Internet cafe´s are truly the opium dens of our time. It´s hard to go a few days without the latest and greatest from friends, family, and the New York Times.
So we did it, we traveled to the southern-most city in the world -- Ushaia. But first, after our retreat from Torres del Paine, we spent 4 few days resting and relaxing (or waiting for the next bus, either way you want to put it) in Punta Arenas, Chile. We really enjoyed the town. Here´s why....
--Seafood is the saving grace of Chilean cuisine and Pt. Arenas offered it up in spades (King Crab, Giant Mussells, Salmon, and our favorite, Conger Eel)
--Though we have a lot seen less of chile than we have argentina, we´ve noticed a dearth of old or interesting architecture in Chile (with the exception of Santiago). Not so in Punta Arenas. Hugely wealthy sheep barrons of the 19th century left ornate mansions and their buisness left great squares, civic buildings and banks.
--The town had an amazing cemetary with huge, ornate tombs for the aforementioned buisnessmen and smaller ones for the imigrant workers that facilitated their wealth. Many were from Croatia and other Eastern European locales. It was an intersting look into the settlement of the area
--Our hostel was in a quiet neighborhood which we got to know quite well. There were a great deal less tourists in town, and that with our hostel made us feel like we were in a real place. A nice change.
--The town is on the Straight of Magellan and that´s just cool.
When we headed to Ushaia, we honstly thought the best thing about it would be braging about its southernlyness. We were wrong. The bus crossed the choppy straght of magellan on a ferry, on to Tierra del Fuego (the island at the southern tips of chile and argentina) and quickly we were on the flatest plain we´ve ever seen. The only thing close (for me) was a dirt road adventure in the area where colorado, wyoming, and nebraska´s borders join. We were begining to regret our choice. We saw the occational sheep herd, but more often was nothingness, or a telephone line runing past our view into the windy, brown nothingness. (I know, I know, this is sounding like another bus trip. Bear with me.) Two hours later shrubs, then beech forests (which are pretty, sure, but always look half dead), then hills, then mountains and lakes and red peat bogs.
We loved Ushaia. It was bustling for a small town, and (as we´ve come to expect from Argentina) we ate really well. The town itself offered a really interesting museum on the history of the area. There we learned about the natives of the area who were, of course, all killed when the, ¨explorers¨ started coming. There were lots of shiprecks on the rocky coast, many by explorers, and many more executed by captains so that their ships´ owners could collect insurance claims when their boats became out of vogue after the invention of the steam engine. The area also hosted its fair share of missionaries and convicts -- the towns´ development had much to do with the presence of the penal colony located there. But perhaps the best part of the museum is that they stamp your passport ¨Museo del fin del mundo.¨ Way cool.
Ushaia is located in the Tierra del Fuego National Park, and Raegan and I went on a great hike there. While there a red fox walked within 10 feet of us (and didn´t swear at us -- ha, ha). We saw lots of cool birds, and we hiked above the tree line which is only around 2000ft this far south.
We also met some great folks from town, most are from elswhere, and like the remoteness and beauty of the town. The events in Madrid was the topic of the hour. Everyone was very upset about it, and couldn´t fathom the reason for the tragedy. We were in agreement on almost all issues with the folks we talked to, and most were suprised to learn we were from the United States after learning our views. They were all fairly political despite thier remote location. One woman pointed to the simple life she lead and more importantly our location on the map as why something like that could never happen in Ushaia.
Last night we visited our favorite bartender in El Calafate. We chatted, drank, and danced with some great German folks, one of whom visited the rally at Sturgis. The bumpy flight today was a little rough, but nothing a big plate of homemade pasta couldn´t solve.
In a few, we´re crossing over again to Puerto Montt, Chile. From there we´ll be heading to the island of Chiloé to see some of thier famous stilted wooden villages and sample their even more famous seafood stew.
If you read this far, here is your reward... our latest installment of PICTURES!
Ciao, chicos.
Comments-[ comments.]
So we did it, we traveled to the southern-most city in the world -- Ushaia. But first, after our retreat from Torres del Paine, we spent 4 few days resting and relaxing (or waiting for the next bus, either way you want to put it) in Punta Arenas, Chile. We really enjoyed the town. Here´s why....
--Seafood is the saving grace of Chilean cuisine and Pt. Arenas offered it up in spades (King Crab, Giant Mussells, Salmon, and our favorite, Conger Eel)
--Though we have a lot seen less of chile than we have argentina, we´ve noticed a dearth of old or interesting architecture in Chile (with the exception of Santiago). Not so in Punta Arenas. Hugely wealthy sheep barrons of the 19th century left ornate mansions and their buisness left great squares, civic buildings and banks.
--The town had an amazing cemetary with huge, ornate tombs for the aforementioned buisnessmen and smaller ones for the imigrant workers that facilitated their wealth. Many were from Croatia and other Eastern European locales. It was an intersting look into the settlement of the area
--Our hostel was in a quiet neighborhood which we got to know quite well. There were a great deal less tourists in town, and that with our hostel made us feel like we were in a real place. A nice change.
--The town is on the Straight of Magellan and that´s just cool.
When we headed to Ushaia, we honstly thought the best thing about it would be braging about its southernlyness. We were wrong. The bus crossed the choppy straght of magellan on a ferry, on to Tierra del Fuego (the island at the southern tips of chile and argentina) and quickly we were on the flatest plain we´ve ever seen. The only thing close (for me) was a dirt road adventure in the area where colorado, wyoming, and nebraska´s borders join. We were begining to regret our choice. We saw the occational sheep herd, but more often was nothingness, or a telephone line runing past our view into the windy, brown nothingness. (I know, I know, this is sounding like another bus trip. Bear with me.) Two hours later shrubs, then beech forests (which are pretty, sure, but always look half dead), then hills, then mountains and lakes and red peat bogs.
We loved Ushaia. It was bustling for a small town, and (as we´ve come to expect from Argentina) we ate really well. The town itself offered a really interesting museum on the history of the area. There we learned about the natives of the area who were, of course, all killed when the, ¨explorers¨ started coming. There were lots of shiprecks on the rocky coast, many by explorers, and many more executed by captains so that their ships´ owners could collect insurance claims when their boats became out of vogue after the invention of the steam engine. The area also hosted its fair share of missionaries and convicts -- the towns´ development had much to do with the presence of the penal colony located there. But perhaps the best part of the museum is that they stamp your passport ¨Museo del fin del mundo.¨ Way cool.
Ushaia is located in the Tierra del Fuego National Park, and Raegan and I went on a great hike there. While there a red fox walked within 10 feet of us (and didn´t swear at us -- ha, ha). We saw lots of cool birds, and we hiked above the tree line which is only around 2000ft this far south.
We also met some great folks from town, most are from elswhere, and like the remoteness and beauty of the town. The events in Madrid was the topic of the hour. Everyone was very upset about it, and couldn´t fathom the reason for the tragedy. We were in agreement on almost all issues with the folks we talked to, and most were suprised to learn we were from the United States after learning our views. They were all fairly political despite thier remote location. One woman pointed to the simple life she lead and more importantly our location on the map as why something like that could never happen in Ushaia.
Last night we visited our favorite bartender in El Calafate. We chatted, drank, and danced with some great German folks, one of whom visited the rally at Sturgis. The bumpy flight today was a little rough, but nothing a big plate of homemade pasta couldn´t solve.
In a few, we´re crossing over again to Puerto Montt, Chile. From there we´ll be heading to the island of Chiloé to see some of thier famous stilted wooden villages and sample their even more famous seafood stew.
If you read this far, here is your reward... our latest installment of PICTURES!
Ciao, chicos.
Monday, March 08, 2004
We´re in Punta Arenas now, on the Straight of Magellan. Some housekeeping: Raegan just wrote a few days ago so if you haven´t read it yet, don´t forget to scroll down. Secondly, we´ve been on the road for a bit now and are worried about reader fatigue. Let us know: are you most interested in our thoughts and perceptions or whereabouts; how do you find the frequency and length of our posts, etc? Ok, now on to Torres del Paine and Magellanic Penguins. Long ones, so hang on.....
Torres del Paine:
Our guidebook called it ¨one of the worlds greatest treks¨ and we were pretty psyched about the park despite having done more treking in the previous weeks than the years that preceeded. In Puerto Natales we loaded up with 6 days of food. After, the salesman convinced us of our need for his more expensive, ¨nice, foreign tent¨ and equivalent stove. With both rented we bought our pricey bus tickets and headed out with our heavy bags. We paid the foreign entrance fee at the park and took the expensive 20 minute boat ride across yet another milky turquoise lake. Both the cost and the views from both forms of transport let us know just how special the place was: herds of Guanaco and Rhea on the plains, vertical walls of granite, fall folliage, and glaicers -- feeding the dozens of waterfalls feeding the lakes. We made friends on the rides, and caught up with others who had been traveling on the same circuit. When we reached the shore we felt the strong winds of which the park is famous, and a lite rain. Leighton, who had made an attempt at the hightest mountain in S. America (6900mts) the week before decided to wait out the rain in the refugio, but we went on undetered.
The rain abated, but the wind ranged -- depending on our exposure -- from barely noticable, to ¨grab on to something¨ when paritally exposed, to ¨get on all fours¨ when fully exposed. Oh, and did I mention that the strong wind was shooting off of the largest non-antartic ice block on earth? Anyhow, the walk was gorgeous. I´ve had more than one friend say that if you don´t like the weather in Ft.Collins, wait 15 minutes. Poey. We had different weather every 10 seconds. We changed clothes 4 times in the first hour -- pack on, pack off -- until we figured out our futility. We passed mini-canyons, waterfalls, glacial lakes -- carved like a quary, and views of the glaicer before decending steeply to our first camp.
While walking I crafted the analogy: El Chaltén is to Torres del Paine as San Francisco is to New York. Chalten is beautiful, grand but quant, and with just enough drama to make a big impression. Torres is huge, brash, strikingly unique and beautiful, but hard. At this point we were mesmerized, and had little idea how much Chalten gave us a warm west-coast hug while Torres said ¨fuck you¨ and stole our camera.
That night was great. We set up our ¨expensive¨ tent nice and secure. We ate to lighten our load -- we had bought too much food, overcompensating for too little in Chalten --, made friends with a Spanish couple (Raegan relearned her lisp) and walked by the glacier with Leighton from Sydney. About 4 hours after beding down, we woke up to rain drops, NY-sized drops shaking our tent. The next morning we hung out in the tent (which stayed mostly dry!) as the rain picked up we took short trips about as we debated our options: a) ride it out, b) proceed with the plan to hike beside the glacier, or c) make tracks to the other side of the mountain. After a wet, but beautiful hike to the glaicer lookout, it was ¨c.¨
We packed up the wet tent, adding a good 10lbs to the load, and no rain pants, pack cover, or gaiters we headed out. The rain lightened up, but our 4 hour hike was still all wet. The wind blew us and the rain straight up the mountain. At the top of the pass, the wind was like gravity to skiing, we let it do the work and we steered, hoping not to go over the cliff to our right. For the entire hike our frontsides stayed perfectly dry. Despite the wet it was a beautiful hike -- a palate of colors. We arrived at the refugio and decided not to go on another 3hrs to the next site. We put up our tent in the wind and rain and headed inside the crowded shelter.
There we drank overpriced boxed wine to lift our spirits with Jeff, a landscaper, gardener and artist from Portland with whom we had crossed paths many times. We made friends with a Swiss forestry manger (lot a swiss here -- don´t they like them alps?) a nice Israeli couple, just out of military service, some Germans, a guy from Berkeley, etc, etc, etc. We could feel the wind and rain through the wallls. It was picking up, and even the hardest among us was glad for the time to not be outside. The storm was remenicent of a SE Asian or W African downpoar, but rather than violence an reprieve, it continued and continued. From time to time we would make a 3 minute dash to our tent to ensure it wasn´t in the lake, to return inside to the revelry drenched.
We shared stories and bitched about the weather. We heard about rats eating thier way into tents, jackets, and bags in searc of food, that the next visit on our itinerary more closely resembled a terraced waterfall than a camping site, that their had been a drought in the park and it had apparently broke, that this was an ¨antartic swirl¨ weather patern -- meaing it wouldn´t stop for days, and that the mud was 18 inches deep on the next trail. Doubts set in. We ran to our tent, which remarkably was occupying the same puddle we left it in, and hung our food in the bushes thinking wet food was better than rats getting into our ¨expensive¨ tent.
We woke up the next day and, although we thought it impossible, the wind and rain had picked up. We packed up our bags, threw out the food the rats nibbled, and headed back inside to prepare some warm water. We played cards with the Israeli couple and got everone elses plans and thier opinion on ours. We missed the first boat out durring the debate to torture ourselves. There was a 3 minute blue sky sighting shortly after. We took a 40 minute hike to torture ourselves even further.
In retrospect, we´re glad we handed over our wet bills for the pricey boat outa there. Despite the blue sky sighting, the weather worsened again and continued for days and the famous peaks (and Torres) were thousands of meters above the cloud-line. It was an awfull bitter pill, but who are we kidding, we´re soft city folk. That night we had a seafood stew, lamb, salad and a nice bottle of cab sav. Our waiter comped us some Pisco Sours and our chins raised.... Torres Shmorres.
Penguins:
I thought the South American Explorers Club was hilarious to call the 120,000 penguins on Isla Magdaena a 'colony of jackasses.' We went there anyhow and this was my impression....
On the 2hr ride to Isla Magdalena, the cargo hold which usually held trucks and cars on non-tourist routes, was utilized for soccer by several kids using a plastic bottle for a ball. My eyes wandered from this scene to the horizon to the variety show playing on a 16 inch television in the crouded passenger cabin. Raegan and I had bumped into Jeff before we embarked and we were sharing travel stories and mosaic tips durring the passage.
As we approached the island the hold filled with tourists, staring at the rusty steel ramp as if they were ready to storm Normandy. Down jackets, scarfs, and ski hats were the uniform, binoculars, tripods, and cameras were the weapons. As the tourists ran towards the Penguins, many waddled up the hill, into their burrows, or into the water for cover. Red ropes marked the battle-lines and tripods and cameras were quickly assembled and engaged.
One sign, not in spanish, english, or any language, displayed a person touching a penguin with a big red 'X' through it. Another sign showed a person with a camera aimed at a penguin with an oversized illuminated flash with a big red 'X' through it. Apparently these signs were unintelligable.
One brave kamikazi dressed in formal attire crossed the battle-line only to be surrounded by the attacking troops. Cameras and flashes engaged, kids stroked and pressed the creature -- my god, the carnage. It was an awful site.
Once the front lines were shot and captured, the tourists stormed the hill. to poke their long lenses into the defending troops' bunkers and burrows. Flashes burst, shutters: chack-ing, chack-ing, the defense yelped and cried: 'Freedom! We want freedom -- to waddle, to mate, to moult in peace! The attackers ignored their cries, and took the hill. They held the hill for one hour, smoked a celebratory cigarette, and retreated to their boat as the sun fell to the horizon.
Comments-[ comments.]
Torres del Paine:
Our guidebook called it ¨one of the worlds greatest treks¨ and we were pretty psyched about the park despite having done more treking in the previous weeks than the years that preceeded. In Puerto Natales we loaded up with 6 days of food. After, the salesman convinced us of our need for his more expensive, ¨nice, foreign tent¨ and equivalent stove. With both rented we bought our pricey bus tickets and headed out with our heavy bags. We paid the foreign entrance fee at the park and took the expensive 20 minute boat ride across yet another milky turquoise lake. Both the cost and the views from both forms of transport let us know just how special the place was: herds of Guanaco and Rhea on the plains, vertical walls of granite, fall folliage, and glaicers -- feeding the dozens of waterfalls feeding the lakes. We made friends on the rides, and caught up with others who had been traveling on the same circuit. When we reached the shore we felt the strong winds of which the park is famous, and a lite rain. Leighton, who had made an attempt at the hightest mountain in S. America (6900mts) the week before decided to wait out the rain in the refugio, but we went on undetered.
The rain abated, but the wind ranged -- depending on our exposure -- from barely noticable, to ¨grab on to something¨ when paritally exposed, to ¨get on all fours¨ when fully exposed. Oh, and did I mention that the strong wind was shooting off of the largest non-antartic ice block on earth? Anyhow, the walk was gorgeous. I´ve had more than one friend say that if you don´t like the weather in Ft.Collins, wait 15 minutes. Poey. We had different weather every 10 seconds. We changed clothes 4 times in the first hour -- pack on, pack off -- until we figured out our futility. We passed mini-canyons, waterfalls, glacial lakes -- carved like a quary, and views of the glaicer before decending steeply to our first camp.
While walking I crafted the analogy: El Chaltén is to Torres del Paine as San Francisco is to New York. Chalten is beautiful, grand but quant, and with just enough drama to make a big impression. Torres is huge, brash, strikingly unique and beautiful, but hard. At this point we were mesmerized, and had little idea how much Chalten gave us a warm west-coast hug while Torres said ¨fuck you¨ and stole our camera.
That night was great. We set up our ¨expensive¨ tent nice and secure. We ate to lighten our load -- we had bought too much food, overcompensating for too little in Chalten --, made friends with a Spanish couple (Raegan relearned her lisp) and walked by the glacier with Leighton from Sydney. About 4 hours after beding down, we woke up to rain drops, NY-sized drops shaking our tent. The next morning we hung out in the tent (which stayed mostly dry!) as the rain picked up we took short trips about as we debated our options: a) ride it out, b) proceed with the plan to hike beside the glacier, or c) make tracks to the other side of the mountain. After a wet, but beautiful hike to the glaicer lookout, it was ¨c.¨
We packed up the wet tent, adding a good 10lbs to the load, and no rain pants, pack cover, or gaiters we headed out. The rain lightened up, but our 4 hour hike was still all wet. The wind blew us and the rain straight up the mountain. At the top of the pass, the wind was like gravity to skiing, we let it do the work and we steered, hoping not to go over the cliff to our right. For the entire hike our frontsides stayed perfectly dry. Despite the wet it was a beautiful hike -- a palate of colors. We arrived at the refugio and decided not to go on another 3hrs to the next site. We put up our tent in the wind and rain and headed inside the crowded shelter.
There we drank overpriced boxed wine to lift our spirits with Jeff, a landscaper, gardener and artist from Portland with whom we had crossed paths many times. We made friends with a Swiss forestry manger (lot a swiss here -- don´t they like them alps?) a nice Israeli couple, just out of military service, some Germans, a guy from Berkeley, etc, etc, etc. We could feel the wind and rain through the wallls. It was picking up, and even the hardest among us was glad for the time to not be outside. The storm was remenicent of a SE Asian or W African downpoar, but rather than violence an reprieve, it continued and continued. From time to time we would make a 3 minute dash to our tent to ensure it wasn´t in the lake, to return inside to the revelry drenched.
We shared stories and bitched about the weather. We heard about rats eating thier way into tents, jackets, and bags in searc of food, that the next visit on our itinerary more closely resembled a terraced waterfall than a camping site, that their had been a drought in the park and it had apparently broke, that this was an ¨antartic swirl¨ weather patern -- meaing it wouldn´t stop for days, and that the mud was 18 inches deep on the next trail. Doubts set in. We ran to our tent, which remarkably was occupying the same puddle we left it in, and hung our food in the bushes thinking wet food was better than rats getting into our ¨expensive¨ tent.
We woke up the next day and, although we thought it impossible, the wind and rain had picked up. We packed up our bags, threw out the food the rats nibbled, and headed back inside to prepare some warm water. We played cards with the Israeli couple and got everone elses plans and thier opinion on ours. We missed the first boat out durring the debate to torture ourselves. There was a 3 minute blue sky sighting shortly after. We took a 40 minute hike to torture ourselves even further.
In retrospect, we´re glad we handed over our wet bills for the pricey boat outa there. Despite the blue sky sighting, the weather worsened again and continued for days and the famous peaks (and Torres) were thousands of meters above the cloud-line. It was an awfull bitter pill, but who are we kidding, we´re soft city folk. That night we had a seafood stew, lamb, salad and a nice bottle of cab sav. Our waiter comped us some Pisco Sours and our chins raised.... Torres Shmorres.
Penguins:
I thought the South American Explorers Club was hilarious to call the 120,000 penguins on Isla Magdaena a 'colony of jackasses.' We went there anyhow and this was my impression....
On the 2hr ride to Isla Magdalena, the cargo hold which usually held trucks and cars on non-tourist routes, was utilized for soccer by several kids using a plastic bottle for a ball. My eyes wandered from this scene to the horizon to the variety show playing on a 16 inch television in the crouded passenger cabin. Raegan and I had bumped into Jeff before we embarked and we were sharing travel stories and mosaic tips durring the passage.
As we approached the island the hold filled with tourists, staring at the rusty steel ramp as if they were ready to storm Normandy. Down jackets, scarfs, and ski hats were the uniform, binoculars, tripods, and cameras were the weapons. As the tourists ran towards the Penguins, many waddled up the hill, into their burrows, or into the water for cover. Red ropes marked the battle-lines and tripods and cameras were quickly assembled and engaged.
One sign, not in spanish, english, or any language, displayed a person touching a penguin with a big red 'X' through it. Another sign showed a person with a camera aimed at a penguin with an oversized illuminated flash with a big red 'X' through it. Apparently these signs were unintelligable.
One brave kamikazi dressed in formal attire crossed the battle-line only to be surrounded by the attacking troops. Cameras and flashes engaged, kids stroked and pressed the creature -- my god, the carnage. It was an awful site.
Once the front lines were shot and captured, the tourists stormed the hill. to poke their long lenses into the defending troops' bunkers and burrows. Flashes burst, shutters: chack-ing, chack-ing, the defense yelped and cried: 'Freedom! We want freedom -- to waddle, to mate, to moult in peace! The attackers ignored their cries, and took the hill. They held the hill for one hour, smoked a celebratory cigarette, and retreated to their boat as the sun fell to the horizon.
