claudia.saunders' photostream on Flickr.
I did the best I could to try to narrow it down. Considering there was about 700 to sort through, 140 isn't THAT bad. Plus, they're perdy. I hope you enjoy!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
I shoulda been a gaucho plus some fun facts
We'll call this my entry of random. I'll pull it all together for the next one.
I had Toby Keith's country song, I shoulda been a cowboy stuck in my head pretty much for an entire month. Every time I'd see a fence and I started rolling wire, it would pop right back in there. Sure I improvised the lyrics a bit to better suit my surroudings, but still there it was. The new version went something like this:
I should've been a gaucho
I should've learned to rope and ride
Wearing my beret and riding my pony on a puma hunt
Stealing the young girl's hearts
Bringing meat and wine
Singing those campfire songs
Oh I should've been a gaucho
I'll be the first to admit it's ridiculous, but I had no control! As soon as my gloved hand hit that wire, this damn song would start rolling in my mind. Just the chorus, over and over and over again. It was fine, it passed the time, and it was better than what my dear friend Annie was teaching Marie Pierre. That aweful song, by Kelis, My Milkshake. Yes, it was HILARIOUS to watch MP sing the chorus in her very strong french accent, but still I think country was much more fitting to that enviroment. One of the nights when we had finished working and were in the casino eating dinner the Kelis song came up, and one of the interns tried to translate the words into Spanish for MP. It was the best\worst translation ever...the literal translation back to English was "my smoothie brings all the men to the garden." We all lost it, laughing so hard it brought tears to our eyes.
My sentiments are true though, part of me does feel like I shoudla been a gaucho. There are so many things that they do that just look awesome. Like hunting pumas and eating stupid amounts of meat and riding horses and wearing berets and cooking on a barrel and spending a lot of time in beautiful scenery, and generally being cool.
I also learned some fun vocab while I was in the backcountry. Things that I feel should be shared if you are ever lucky enough to find yourself in Patagonia.
Gaucho gourmet: Anything that can be cooked on a barrel. Will most likely contain the following ingredients, meat, rice, bread, tomato paste, aji, pumpkin (because that makes perfect sense to carry on a backpacking trip), carrots, canned peas and or canned mushrooms.
Guanaco it: Blazing your own trail while hiking, just like a Guanco. Proper use, "Hey Lilly, how do you propose we get over to that fence line. Should we take the trail or just guanaco it?"
Trailgating: Having someone hike too close behind you. May require you to stop unexpectedly so they crash into you. This can be extremely dangerous when carrying a rockbar.
Lannie Steamer: A warm beverage made with powdered milk, hot water, and a dollop of manjar.
Milk Dust: aka polbo de leche or powdered milk.
Spices: dirt, leaves, small insects that end up in your food or water...they just add a little flavor.
The Loo: a hole, dug into the ground for the purpose of defecation. Usually with a kick ass view of the mountains.
Asado: Lots and lots and lots of food. It centers around meat, sometimes various kinds of meat...and will leave you wanting nothing more than to nap afterwards.
Guacho mechanics: what happens when one kills a car battery by blasting the stereo all night long. It requires a lot of pushing of said truck up a hill to try to get it started...most likely will not work.
And some fun facts. These are just my guestimates at best. There is no way to back this data, so take it for what it is.
1. Number of showers I took in 1 month: 6
2. Kilometers of fences destroyed. 60-70
3. Number of Sopapillas consumed: 20 (yes, I'm ashamed to admit this)
4. Kilometers hiked on days off: 60
5. Most layers worn on core: 6 (tank top, tee shirt, wool long sleeve, long sleeve, fleece and raincoat)
6. Least layers worn on core: 1
7. Days I was able to practice yoga: 9
8. Classes taught to interns: 2
9. Nights I had to wake up in the middle of the night to pee: 7
10. Morells found: 4
11. Days with snow\hail: 3
12. Nights in front of a fire: 26
13. Blisters earned on feet: 5
14. Bruises earned on legs: 6
15. Number of times I was smacked in the face by rouge wire: too many
I had Toby Keith's country song, I shoulda been a cowboy stuck in my head pretty much for an entire month. Every time I'd see a fence and I started rolling wire, it would pop right back in there. Sure I improvised the lyrics a bit to better suit my surroudings, but still there it was. The new version went something like this:
I should've been a gaucho
I should've learned to rope and ride
Wearing my beret and riding my pony on a puma hunt
Stealing the young girl's hearts
Bringing meat and wine
Singing those campfire songs
Oh I should've been a gaucho
I'll be the first to admit it's ridiculous, but I had no control! As soon as my gloved hand hit that wire, this damn song would start rolling in my mind. Just the chorus, over and over and over again. It was fine, it passed the time, and it was better than what my dear friend Annie was teaching Marie Pierre. That aweful song, by Kelis, My Milkshake. Yes, it was HILARIOUS to watch MP sing the chorus in her very strong french accent, but still I think country was much more fitting to that enviroment. One of the nights when we had finished working and were in the casino eating dinner the Kelis song came up, and one of the interns tried to translate the words into Spanish for MP. It was the best\worst translation ever...the literal translation back to English was "my smoothie brings all the men to the garden." We all lost it, laughing so hard it brought tears to our eyes.
My sentiments are true though, part of me does feel like I shoudla been a gaucho. There are so many things that they do that just look awesome. Like hunting pumas and eating stupid amounts of meat and riding horses and wearing berets and cooking on a barrel and spending a lot of time in beautiful scenery, and generally being cool.
I also learned some fun vocab while I was in the backcountry. Things that I feel should be shared if you are ever lucky enough to find yourself in Patagonia.
Gaucho gourmet: Anything that can be cooked on a barrel. Will most likely contain the following ingredients, meat, rice, bread, tomato paste, aji, pumpkin (because that makes perfect sense to carry on a backpacking trip), carrots, canned peas and or canned mushrooms.
Guanaco it: Blazing your own trail while hiking, just like a Guanco. Proper use, "Hey Lilly, how do you propose we get over to that fence line. Should we take the trail or just guanaco it?"
Trailgating: Having someone hike too close behind you. May require you to stop unexpectedly so they crash into you. This can be extremely dangerous when carrying a rockbar.
Lannie Steamer: A warm beverage made with powdered milk, hot water, and a dollop of manjar.
Milk Dust: aka polbo de leche or powdered milk.
Spices: dirt, leaves, small insects that end up in your food or water...they just add a little flavor.
The Loo: a hole, dug into the ground for the purpose of defecation. Usually with a kick ass view of the mountains.
Asado: Lots and lots and lots of food. It centers around meat, sometimes various kinds of meat...and will leave you wanting nothing more than to nap afterwards.
Guacho mechanics: what happens when one kills a car battery by blasting the stereo all night long. It requires a lot of pushing of said truck up a hill to try to get it started...most likely will not work.
And some fun facts. These are just my guestimates at best. There is no way to back this data, so take it for what it is.
1. Number of showers I took in 1 month: 6
2. Kilometers of fences destroyed. 60-70
3. Number of Sopapillas consumed: 20 (yes, I'm ashamed to admit this)
4. Kilometers hiked on days off: 60
5. Most layers worn on core: 6 (tank top, tee shirt, wool long sleeve, long sleeve, fleece and raincoat)
6. Least layers worn on core: 1
7. Days I was able to practice yoga: 9
8. Classes taught to interns: 2
9. Nights I had to wake up in the middle of the night to pee: 7
10. Morells found: 4
11. Days with snow\hail: 3
12. Nights in front of a fire: 26
13. Blisters earned on feet: 5
14. Bruises earned on legs: 6
15. Number of times I was smacked in the face by rouge wire: too many
Saturday, October 29, 2011
My name is Claudia, I'm 27 years old and I just witnessed my first spring
I realize it must sound silly. How can it be possible that I just witnessed my first spring? But I bet, most of you have never really witnessed spring before either, not like this. I watched it happen, day by day until the landscape was completely transformed. I saw it, I felt it, and was taken back by the miracle of it.
I had the incredible pleasure of spending a month in one place, with nothing more than a tent as my shelter and a wonderful requirement that I spend every day outside. Every day, all day, outside. When was the last time you spent more than 1 day outside, let alone a month of consecutive days? There was nothing to distract me, no tv, no internet, no cars, no streets, no lights other than the sun, the moon or a fire, no ac to cool me off, no heat to warm me up, no walls to hide behind, no weather report to check. Just me...and that beautiful world.
It happened slow, and now I understand why I've always missed it. It was the little things like the sun waking up 5 mins earlier and going to sleep 5 minutes later...before I knew it those few minutes turned into hours of more daylight. The mountains that were once white, were less while, and less white, and less white until just patches of snow were left in the shadiest places and the rocks below the snow were bare. First it was one tree with little green shoots, then it was a couple trees then magically they weren't just sticks but entire green coats of leaves hung on the all the trees branches in the entire valley. The flowers showed up in patches of what was once just dirt or grass. Little pink ones, and purple ones and blue and white and yellow and red ones. Berries too felt it was time to join in. I toured the green house on days off...it was just dirt the last time I was in there, and now there are sprouts everywhere....and it's time to hunt and harvest some wild mushrooms.
The weather changed too. Less days of rain...less random storms of hail or snow. More sun, with those funny little puffy clouds and not the heavy ominous grey ones. The wind picked up. At first it felt like ice cutting through all my layers straight to my bones. By the time it was time for me to leave, it was refreshing after working in the sun. I needed less layers of clothing, and those midnight runs to pee were less painful. I think I saw the last dustings of snow....and maybe the last mornings of pipes and bottles frozen shut. Sometimes I'd wake up and there wouldn't be ice on my tent, or if there was, it would melt within moments of the sun touching it.
It was incredible for me to see the differences of the same view in the span of 3 days, 1 week, 3 weeks. This valley, as amazing as it was the first time I layed eyes on it, had come alive. Literally, blooming everywhere I looked; even the creeks swelled and grew with the mountain run off.
So it took me 27 years to experience, really experience my first spring. I think I will remember it always, because during that transformation, that valley wasn't the only thing that changed. Part me softened a bit too, learned to love the sound of quiet, appreciate the scent of rich heavy earth, find joy in watching my own breath, and the taste of water right from a river. I learned that in my first spring, there's a lot of stuff I really don't need, that this existence can be a whole lot simpler and by becoming simpler, it can actually become that much more fulfilling. I left a part of my heart in Valle Chacabuco. I hope, that if I ever forget the wonderful things my first spring taught me, that valley will still be there, just as perfect and peaceful as it always has been.
Yeah, I left a part of my heart in Valle Chacabuco, and I'm already trying to figure out ways to be sure I can get back there.
I had the incredible pleasure of spending a month in one place, with nothing more than a tent as my shelter and a wonderful requirement that I spend every day outside. Every day, all day, outside. When was the last time you spent more than 1 day outside, let alone a month of consecutive days? There was nothing to distract me, no tv, no internet, no cars, no streets, no lights other than the sun, the moon or a fire, no ac to cool me off, no heat to warm me up, no walls to hide behind, no weather report to check. Just me...and that beautiful world.
It happened slow, and now I understand why I've always missed it. It was the little things like the sun waking up 5 mins earlier and going to sleep 5 minutes later...before I knew it those few minutes turned into hours of more daylight. The mountains that were once white, were less while, and less white, and less white until just patches of snow were left in the shadiest places and the rocks below the snow were bare. First it was one tree with little green shoots, then it was a couple trees then magically they weren't just sticks but entire green coats of leaves hung on the all the trees branches in the entire valley. The flowers showed up in patches of what was once just dirt or grass. Little pink ones, and purple ones and blue and white and yellow and red ones. Berries too felt it was time to join in. I toured the green house on days off...it was just dirt the last time I was in there, and now there are sprouts everywhere....and it's time to hunt and harvest some wild mushrooms.
The weather changed too. Less days of rain...less random storms of hail or snow. More sun, with those funny little puffy clouds and not the heavy ominous grey ones. The wind picked up. At first it felt like ice cutting through all my layers straight to my bones. By the time it was time for me to leave, it was refreshing after working in the sun. I needed less layers of clothing, and those midnight runs to pee were less painful. I think I saw the last dustings of snow....and maybe the last mornings of pipes and bottles frozen shut. Sometimes I'd wake up and there wouldn't be ice on my tent, or if there was, it would melt within moments of the sun touching it.
It was incredible for me to see the differences of the same view in the span of 3 days, 1 week, 3 weeks. This valley, as amazing as it was the first time I layed eyes on it, had come alive. Literally, blooming everywhere I looked; even the creeks swelled and grew with the mountain run off.
So it took me 27 years to experience, really experience my first spring. I think I will remember it always, because during that transformation, that valley wasn't the only thing that changed. Part me softened a bit too, learned to love the sound of quiet, appreciate the scent of rich heavy earth, find joy in watching my own breath, and the taste of water right from a river. I learned that in my first spring, there's a lot of stuff I really don't need, that this existence can be a whole lot simpler and by becoming simpler, it can actually become that much more fulfilling. I left a part of my heart in Valle Chacabuco. I hope, that if I ever forget the wonderful things my first spring taught me, that valley will still be there, just as perfect and peaceful as it always has been.
Yeah, I left a part of my heart in Valle Chacabuco, and I'm already trying to figure out ways to be sure I can get back there.
Friday, October 21, 2011
I think I found heaven, the locals call it Valle Chacabuo
Before I begin, there will most likely be a series of blog entries from my time volunteering in Patagonia. As you can imagine my connection to the internet intermitten and spotty at best. I tried my best to take notes, mental pictures and actual pictures to capture what I had have been so fortunate to see and experience and will try to relay that here. This first entry is mostly my first impression of everything here in the region, the estancia and before the actual work had kicked in. I will have to post pictures when I get back to a city, so, do your best to imagine what wonderful looks like.
My trip to heaven was straightforward all things considered. Fly from Arica to Santiago with a stop in Antofagasta. Fly from Santiago to Balmaceda with a stop in Puerto Mont. Take a bus from Balmaceda to Coyhaique and stay the night there. This is the driveway to the gates, and the scenery gives hints of the beauty to come. Take another bus for about 6-7 hours to a crossing, Cruce Baker, in the middle of a
underused highway. To the right is Rio Cochrane with it's jewel-toned turquoise water fed since this land was formed by pure glacier water. To the left is a bumpy, windy dirt road, snaking it's way through thigh-high tufts of golden colored grass blanketing what seems like endless ridges. They have to end...because all around this
valley are perfect snow-capped mountains. You drive through them the whole way here, and in their valley's they hide pools of water as clear and still as glass or fields of grass that from the distance look soft like moss.
I never found the pearly gates, but in their place was weathered wood posts turned gray from years of exposure to wind, rain and snow. A thin wire held the posts together. Quaint, I thought. It's like walking back in time to a world of cowboys. These fences, I would soon discover, had no place in this heaven, and my job would be to remove them.
I think I met Peter, but the locals call him Luigi. He came barreling down the road in a Nissan truck, that I believe was painted green, but had been polished over with a thick coat of Patagonian mud. I threw my
backpack into the bed of the truck along with my fellow travelers, and climbed into the cab. Even the clouds look fake, puffy balls of white like you'd see in a toddlers drawing of the sky; and the blue in which
those clouds hung was a gradient from powder blue in the horizon to a deep cobalt overhead. Gripping tight to the handle of the truck I got my first glimpses of my new home. Those golden grass covered ridges
are the feeding grounds for herds of Guanacos. I would get to know them better too, and become familiar with their lazy walk around the Estancia and their odd, synthesized sounding neigh.
The end of the drive was base camp. A flat grassy field with windbreaks to pitch a tent behind. A community tent, known as the carpa verde and a bank of rooms housing toilets, showers and sinks. "Lujo" I was told...luxury. Yeah, this ain't half-bad. There's a casino here too, or at least that's what we call the cafeteria, and I woud soon learn that after days in the backcountry coming back to a heated room with prepared hot meals is like winning the jackpot.
We met Lilly, she was waiting for us at the carpa verde. She is the intern here assigned to the volunteer group and she would be our guide out in the field working side by side with us. All we had to do that night was set up our tents, get some dinner in the casino, and make small talk in the carpa with our new group. We´d be spending a lot of time together, must just well become friends. We were a small group, only 6 plus Lilly, eventually the number would swell to 10, but for now this was it. There was me, who would soon become the estacia´s resident yoga instructor, Annie the light-hearted pastry chef\patagonia store manager from the bay area, Jaime, the park ranger from Joshua Tree, Andy the trained architect turned ski bum from Vail, Liz the recent grad school grad from St. Louis and Marie Pierre the french roofer. We made quite the team...those fences weren´t going to stand a chance with us, a pair of decent wire clippers and an endless supply of cookies.
We arrived on a Friday and would have all of Saturday to explore the area around the estancia. We would start work on Sunday morning. In that time I saw a variety of birds that I had never seen before, including one, who´s name I really should make it a point to learn, looked like a GIANT hummingbird. Seriously, a giant hummingbird. If you could make a hummingbird the size of a goose, it would look like this thing. I know it´s not a hummingbird, but in the Claudia Saunders field guide to patagonia, that is what it would be called. I also saw what seemed like hundreds of Guanacos (a wild relative to the alpaca and llama), a fox, and FLAMINGOS! Silliness, flamingos, doing there flamingo thing, standing on one leg, being all pink...in the freezing cold. It still doesn´t make sense in my head.
I spent my first night in my tent. Pitched her right behind the wind break and close enough to creek to hear the water running all night long. People pay good money for recordings of creeks, I had the real thing right outside my tent door, which may or may not have been responsible for my need to pee in the middle of the night, but even that is a blessing in disguise in atagonia. Yeah, it´s cold, you can see your breath, the ground and your tent is covered in a thin layer of ice and it does take every bit of courage and strength the leave the warmth of a sleeping bag to sprint in the dark to an outhouse. But man, take a look up at the clear night sky, even the stars are brighter here. It takes a minute to fathom what it is that you are really looking at, there are so many, and none of the same constellations are there. Even the moon shines brighter, drowning the light of the stars next to it. So this is what the night sky is supposed to look like. No wonder people have been fascinated with space for so long. It´s funny to me that even as the days and weeks went on, every time I had to get out of my tent in the middle of the night the same thing would happen, in the rain, in the wind, yes, even in the snow, I´d look up and it would take my breath away. Damn this place is beautiful, and all I can do is smile, take it in, and bow my head in thanks that I get to be here.
It´s almost feels like a dream. The kind that seems so real you promise never to forget it. I wake up every morning I´m here and unzip my tent to get smacked in the face by heaven. Every day I see the handiwork of a presence that I believe to be God...for something this beautiful, it has to be. I drink it in every pore, and overwhelmed with joy, gratitude and that ellusive thing called peace, I walk around heaven.
My trip to heaven was straightforward all things considered. Fly from Arica to Santiago with a stop in Antofagasta. Fly from Santiago to Balmaceda with a stop in Puerto Mont. Take a bus from Balmaceda to Coyhaique and stay the night there. This is the driveway to the gates, and the scenery gives hints of the beauty to come. Take another bus for about 6-7 hours to a crossing, Cruce Baker, in the middle of a
underused highway. To the right is Rio Cochrane with it's jewel-toned turquoise water fed since this land was formed by pure glacier water. To the left is a bumpy, windy dirt road, snaking it's way through thigh-high tufts of golden colored grass blanketing what seems like endless ridges. They have to end...because all around this
valley are perfect snow-capped mountains. You drive through them the whole way here, and in their valley's they hide pools of water as clear and still as glass or fields of grass that from the distance look soft like moss.
I never found the pearly gates, but in their place was weathered wood posts turned gray from years of exposure to wind, rain and snow. A thin wire held the posts together. Quaint, I thought. It's like walking back in time to a world of cowboys. These fences, I would soon discover, had no place in this heaven, and my job would be to remove them.
I think I met Peter, but the locals call him Luigi. He came barreling down the road in a Nissan truck, that I believe was painted green, but had been polished over with a thick coat of Patagonian mud. I threw my
backpack into the bed of the truck along with my fellow travelers, and climbed into the cab. Even the clouds look fake, puffy balls of white like you'd see in a toddlers drawing of the sky; and the blue in which
those clouds hung was a gradient from powder blue in the horizon to a deep cobalt overhead. Gripping tight to the handle of the truck I got my first glimpses of my new home. Those golden grass covered ridges
are the feeding grounds for herds of Guanacos. I would get to know them better too, and become familiar with their lazy walk around the Estancia and their odd, synthesized sounding neigh.
The end of the drive was base camp. A flat grassy field with windbreaks to pitch a tent behind. A community tent, known as the carpa verde and a bank of rooms housing toilets, showers and sinks. "Lujo" I was told...luxury. Yeah, this ain't half-bad. There's a casino here too, or at least that's what we call the cafeteria, and I woud soon learn that after days in the backcountry coming back to a heated room with prepared hot meals is like winning the jackpot.
We met Lilly, she was waiting for us at the carpa verde. She is the intern here assigned to the volunteer group and she would be our guide out in the field working side by side with us. All we had to do that night was set up our tents, get some dinner in the casino, and make small talk in the carpa with our new group. We´d be spending a lot of time together, must just well become friends. We were a small group, only 6 plus Lilly, eventually the number would swell to 10, but for now this was it. There was me, who would soon become the estacia´s resident yoga instructor, Annie the light-hearted pastry chef\patagonia store manager from the bay area, Jaime, the park ranger from Joshua Tree, Andy the trained architect turned ski bum from Vail, Liz the recent grad school grad from St. Louis and Marie Pierre the french roofer. We made quite the team...those fences weren´t going to stand a chance with us, a pair of decent wire clippers and an endless supply of cookies.
We arrived on a Friday and would have all of Saturday to explore the area around the estancia. We would start work on Sunday morning. In that time I saw a variety of birds that I had never seen before, including one, who´s name I really should make it a point to learn, looked like a GIANT hummingbird. Seriously, a giant hummingbird. If you could make a hummingbird the size of a goose, it would look like this thing. I know it´s not a hummingbird, but in the Claudia Saunders field guide to patagonia, that is what it would be called. I also saw what seemed like hundreds of Guanacos (a wild relative to the alpaca and llama), a fox, and FLAMINGOS! Silliness, flamingos, doing there flamingo thing, standing on one leg, being all pink...in the freezing cold. It still doesn´t make sense in my head.
I spent my first night in my tent. Pitched her right behind the wind break and close enough to creek to hear the water running all night long. People pay good money for recordings of creeks, I had the real thing right outside my tent door, which may or may not have been responsible for my need to pee in the middle of the night, but even that is a blessing in disguise in atagonia. Yeah, it´s cold, you can see your breath, the ground and your tent is covered in a thin layer of ice and it does take every bit of courage and strength the leave the warmth of a sleeping bag to sprint in the dark to an outhouse. But man, take a look up at the clear night sky, even the stars are brighter here. It takes a minute to fathom what it is that you are really looking at, there are so many, and none of the same constellations are there. Even the moon shines brighter, drowning the light of the stars next to it. So this is what the night sky is supposed to look like. No wonder people have been fascinated with space for so long. It´s funny to me that even as the days and weeks went on, every time I had to get out of my tent in the middle of the night the same thing would happen, in the rain, in the wind, yes, even in the snow, I´d look up and it would take my breath away. Damn this place is beautiful, and all I can do is smile, take it in, and bow my head in thanks that I get to be here.
It´s almost feels like a dream. The kind that seems so real you promise never to forget it. I wake up every morning I´m here and unzip my tent to get smacked in the face by heaven. Every day I see the handiwork of a presence that I believe to be God...for something this beautiful, it has to be. I drink it in every pore, and overwhelmed with joy, gratitude and that ellusive thing called peace, I walk around heaven.
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