1st semester midterm. So you wanted a test right?

I started off this noble adventure with the idea of learning something about myself. I was expecting there to be trials, moments of discomfort, reaching out for support in friends, strangers, God...having to dig down deep to find that extra ounce to keep on keeping on. I had this romantic idea of learning through blood, sweat and tears, and from the comforts of home, I typed that thinking how hardcore it sounded.

Then I got schooled. Really schooled. I had my first real test and in my ignorance I thought I would ace this thing. It can't be THAT tough, I've been prepping for this. At first I laughed at the discomfort and welcomed it as my first real trial. Then I met the moment where I hurt. It beat me down, one km at a time, one painful step at a time, one throbbing foot at a time, one sharp shooting pain in the hip that spread into my back at a time. I was cold, I was wet, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, crawl into a nice, dry, warm bed and nurse my blistered, tenderized feet. What am I doing here? People do this shit for fun? Am I out of my damn mind?! Thank goodness I had a friend there with me to pull me back together, tell me that everything I was going through was perfectly normal and that, yes, I would be just fine. He was right. Eventually the rain stopped, the wind died down, I was fed, the pack got lighter, the pain just went numb and I started to rebuild myself from all the snot covered pieces.

Torres del Paine, you are beautiful, amazing, and completely unpredicable. What's that saying about being broken down so you can be built back up? I think just experienced that, and I never knew it could be so...humbling. But that was the whole point of this right? I wanted to learn? I wanted to grow? I wanted to find out what I could take? What I was made of or if I would break? Torres del Paine AKA towers of pain.

Turns out I like pain.

If I could sum up the experience it would sound like this: 7.5 days, 125 Km, 2 friends that didn't kill each other, Armadillo! a sunburn on perfect clear day, How's your pack riding? My hip bones are bruised...oh, that's normal? m0th$@#%! mosquitos, bi-polar weather, bloody nose and bloody cuticles, my first glacier...again and again and again, making friends with porters and guardaparques, yup, we're on the"W" now, was that kid in jean shorts? limping to camp, thanksgiving in the rain, reaching out for spiritual support, blown over, Dr. Rob - that's how you know a true friend, too much cheese, running up towers, getting greedy for sunrise, mmm...nothin' like the smell of horse shit, all I want is a shower and pizza, napping on the grass.

Of course it wasn't that simple. It wasn't that fast...and not nearly as easy.  Don't get me wrong, I realize this entry probably sounds like complaining, it's not. If I could do it all over again, I would and wouldn't even think twice about it. I would pack up my bag and be waiting for the bus to take me back to the park and meet those challenges head on with a smile on my face and say, "what now bitch? I've got this." But first, I had to be brought down, dragged through the mud, and have a pity party.  I had a really good pity party, but now the party is over. Fortunately, Robert was there to slap me around a bit when I needed it to pull me out of my funk and point to the incredible view in front of me and say, hey! snap out of it. He was also there to literally take a load off my shoulders when I simply couldn't go on anymore and never once let me feel like a pansy for it.

So what did we actually do? The full circuit of course. None of this "W" nonsense, we're too hardcore for that. Our plans changed with the weather, but the final itinerary looked like this:

Day 1: the catch afternoon bus from Puerto Natales and arrive in the park at about 5pm. Hike from Laguna Amarga to Campamento Seron (14 km/4.5 hours)
Day 2: Campamento Seron to Refugio Dickson (19 km/6 hours)
Day 3: Refugio Dickson to Campamento Los Perros (9 km/4.5 hours)
Day 4: Campamento Los Perros to Campamento Los Guardos via Paso John Gardener (18 km/9hours)
Day 5: Campamento Los Guardos to Campamento Italiano (22.5 km/8 hours)
Day 6: Campamento Italiano to Campamento Chileno (18 km/8 hours)
Day 7: Campamento Chileno to Campamento Torres and day trip to Campamento Japones and Mirador los Torres (14 km/5 hours)
Day 8: Pack up camp to go Hosterra los Torres and bus back to Puerto Natales (11 km/ 5hours)

The first day was pretty smooth...almost too smooth.  It was a fairly flat walk, the trail was well marked, the weather was perfect. The only thing was that my pack was heavy. I was only carrying the basics, but apprently I eat a lot. We were carrying everything we would need for the next 7.5 days, including all the food, gas, stove, cook kit, tent, sleeping pads and bags, food, rain gear, layers, first aid stuff, more food. We had a lot of food. By the time we got the camp I noticed that my feet were talking...they were not so pleased with what was going on. My hip bones too were making a racket about carrying all this weight. When I took off my pack I noticed that they were tender to the touch. The guardaparque showed us that there was a scale there and he wanted to know how much we were carrying. I put my bag up there...24kilos. The guardaparque did that hand shaking thing like it was burning, "pesado!!" yeah, tell me about it, I know it's heavy. But I was too excited to let it bother me...yet.  We got to camp and set up made easy pasta for dinner and called it a night. For some reason, I was tired.

The next morning we got up to see the sun was shining. The makings of a perfect day. But I was a little stiff...just got to get moving is all. Get them pegs moving. We were in no rush. It was a pretty easy day, and we were told that it was mostly flat. "Flat" in patagonia is almost like "up" they both seem totally relative. The topo map we were using was pretty much pointless, the lines were too far apart to really do us any good, and we had no real idea of what to expect as far as elevation gain on the trek. Fortunately we were not in any kind of rush, so we were slow to get going in the morning and took our time to stop and admire the view along the way. It was an incredible view and it was a noble battle for my attention raging between my feet and the vista. Most of the time the view would win, but I was limping a bit and favoring one side. Robert was a bit concerned for me I think and being a trained guide wanted to help. I learned that there are multiple ways to tie a shoe. I did not know this before and his new method did help prevent my toes from jamming so much into the front of the shoes. But I fear that at this point the damage was done and the blisteres were already well into development and my toenails were all tender to the touch. I kept thinking that I hope they don't fall off...that just wouldn't be cute. Just when the battle was really raging between feet and view and the feet were winning, the view took pulled out an amazing swing and nearly knocked me out. BAM! Lago Dickson and glacier Dickson and the most picturesque campsite the world has ever known. (I stole this picture from Robert who gave me permission to do so and to link to his Flickr pictures as well. To see those click HERE)

It was like being given a fresh shot of adrenaline. I could see the destination. I could make it and then I could drop my pack and take me shoes off and hobble my way down to the water to stick my feet in them. Nature's ice bath. But honeslty, who wouldn't be thrilled to call this home for a night?

Fortunately the next day was an even shorter walk. Robert took some of the weight from me to lighten my load and I felt like a baby but also had enough sense to realize that I needed the help. Besides, he told me that if I was feeling super strong he would happily give me the extra gear back. It turns out the I needed the the help because even with a shorter day ahead I was still struggling a bit to finish the day. I think it may have just been residual tiredness. Or maybe I'm not cut out for this multi-day backpacking business. This day it was raining, and we got to perros campamento with lots of time to make dinner and rest. There was a little shelter made of a tarps and with a little fire pit in the middle there for just that purpose, apparently this camp tends to be wet and cold.  We were invited in to the shelter by the guradaparque (the park ranger) that worked there. He took notice of the fact that we were alone and wet. The shelter was occupied by a relatively large group. We had seen them at the other camps and kept getting passed and passing the same group of porters. I talked with them a little bit at Campamento Dickson and they had invited us share their lentils when we got to Perros camp. We would cross paths with these porters several times along the way and having little snippets of conversations with them along the trail and at various camps. Perros camp is the camp before the big hike, the one that takes you over the pass. It is supposed to be the most difficult day not only because of the elevation but also because the terrain. There are portions of the trail that are a bit dangerous and we had been advised by the park rangers to use particular caution on this next leg. I slept as best I could that night, but it was colder than previous nights and I was excited about the next day.

The next morning came early and Robert took even more weight from my pack. THANK GOD. I had a great day and I think part of the reason was that I was carrying significantly less weight than when we started...and we had eaten some food. We had a good climb in front of us and it was my first time trekking through snow. Robert made it a point to teach me the proper way to lay and maintain tracks so people can follow easily behind you. For whatever reason that day I felt great. Maybe it was the excitement of snow. Maybe it was seeing a glacier like glacier gray for the first time flowing like a river of ice. Maybe it was slipping and falling in the snow and using it as an excuse to slide as far down as I safley could - apparently this is a real mountaineering technique. :) Not the slipping and falling part, but the sliding.

I consider glacier gray my first real glacier. I got to see it over and over and over again. The trail apparently liked to make us earn the same elevation time and time again, and each time there was another first glance at the glacier. I didn't mind....but I think Robert was probably not so thrilled about having to do that with all the weight. He never complained but there was one time where I heard him slightly exhasperated groan, "you've got to be kidding me!" after we had to re-climb for the umpteenth time. I was skipping up that mountain completely enamoured with that glacier. I had never seen anything like it. There was in fact 2 parts where the trail was a bit dodgey...there was a ladder that had to be descended and a rope to help us climb back up from the river bank on the other side.

 

Totally safe...and I only feared for my life once. But then there was that glacier again and I forgot all about it. The weather was crazy that day. It was typical patagonia...start off clear, then rain, then hail, then snow, then coudy but dry, then clear, then rain. So not only did we see the same glacier a handful of times by re-earning the same elevation, it really was like new every time with the changing weather.

Day 5 started off alright but then Robert and I took turns feeling like poop. Fortunately we didn't feel crappy at the same time, but still. It threw me off to see that my composed mountain guide had lost a bit of his composure. Turns out he's not a machine and that day going over the pass carrying more than the lions share of gear and food may have been harder than he let on. After lunch he was re-charged and the same smiling, optimisic Robert I had come to expect was back...and then it was my turn to mope at my pity party. The weather had turned sour, my feet were screaming, my back hurt (that was new) and there was a sharp pain in my right hip. I was walking like a seriously injured old woman. I was wondering what in the hell would posses me to want to do this...and it was Thanksgiving. I wasn't feeling very thankful, in fact I was quite busy ruminating on my general unhappiness at that particular moment.

I hurt. I was cold. I was wet. I was hungry. I missed my family and it was my favorite holiday and I felt - for the first time on this trip - really far away from home. The wind was fierce. The coulds were thick. My feet were soaked. All I wanted at that moment was for that day to be over. I knew that the next day would be better and that old mantra came to mind, that yes, this too shall pass. But at that moment it was hard to see that. Robert snapped this picture right before we reached camp that night. I was deep in thought...wanting to die. I promised myself that I would come back to this part of the trail and make peace with it, but that day we were enemies.

We set up camp in the rain. I hobbled down to the river to get us water and Robert started to make dinner. Bless his heart he was trying to make Thanksgiving out of this day regardless of how crotchety I was. He had hidden a box of instant stuffing in his pack, fryed up some apples in cinnamon and sugar and fried some sliced ham. It was actually really good. I was starting to recover from my previous state and remembering that yes, I did in fact have an overwhelming amount of things to be grateful for. I was spending Thanksgiving in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and even in my moments of unhappiness, the blessings of my life were overflowing.  I was glad that I had a friend there with me to remind me of this and didn't take my sour mood personally. After I was fed and warmed with some fresh socks I was already in a much better place. The clouds were still thick and the sky didn't look very promising.  We were hoping that it would clear up by the morning. The theory was that we would have a day hike in the french valley and then move camp in the evening. But for that night it was Thanksgiving and we had a thanksgivingesque dinner for it. Afterwards I excused myself to hide in the tent and read for a bit. I needed some time alone with my thoughts and to get them back where they needed to be.

I heard a voice from outside the tent tell me that there was dessert if I wanted. Dessert?! This really IS thanksgiving. Apparently Robert had been toting around a giant can of pumpkin pie filling in his pack too. So we had warmed up pumpkin pie filling while the sky insisted on spitting out rain. But by then the worst of it was over, I felt ready for another day. We talked about a plan for the next day. If the rain continued and the clouds hung low there would be no reason for us to day hike the valley since we wouldn't be able to see anything, so we decided that if that happened we would just move camp closer to the towers and try our luck with the weather there.

Morning came...I heard the rain all night and it was still raining in the morning. We tried to wait it out, hoping that the clouds would break for us. No luck, so at around noon we decided to pack up camp and move. Wouldn't you know it that as we packed up and started hiking to the next camp, maybe 2 hours into it the sky started to clear and eventually the sun came out. The valley itself was still completely socked in with clouds so we didn't regret our decision, but we were both a little sad that we never got to see the valley. I'll be back I told myself, not just to make peace, but to actually get to see it.

Walking along on day 6 we met the infamous Patagonian wind. It literally knocked me on my ass at least once and shoved me around a bit too. It was tricky because it was, like everything here, totally unpredictable. The wind would seem to come consisitently from one side, blowing hard enough to warrant me leaning all my weight into it and then suddenly and without warning it would completely change direction. I was still leaning into where it used to be only to find that there was nothing there to push against and I would be stumbling around like a drunk on the path. Our trail map warned us that this part of the path was windy, but I don't think either of us were prepared for wind like this. Apparently there have been people blown off the cliff here because of the wind...

Day 7 was our last full day and we moved camp for the last time. But first it was time to address these feet of mine. Dr. Rob got all serious on me and pulled out his first aid kit, sanitized a needle, took my nasty smelly foot in hand and drained all the fluid from my blister. Then, taped them up all fancy and moved to the other foot. He wasn't even fazed. I was ashamed at my own feet and wouldn't have wanted to touch them, let alone drain blisters, this is a friend. All bandaged up and nursed I felt much better...almost like new. The clouds were hanging low when we moved camp, and by the time we finished it had started raining again and the torres were completely hidden in the clouds. It's ok we told ourselves, we have all day here and tomorrow morning too. They are bound to come out some time. We spent the day bumming around camp and taking a fairly easy hike to the Japanese camp were climbers stay with special permits to climb the torres. I made friends with the guardaparque there, his name was Luis. He invited us in for matte and wine if we were interested, I respectfully declined the invite, but picked his brains for more information about other hikes in the park, the things most people never get to do. He was a wealth of information, but mostly I think he was just bored and was glad to have someone to talk to. I liked the excuse to practice my spanish, so in the end it all worked out. 

It was our last night so we decided to eat everything we could so we didn't have to carry it down. I love cheese, I mean, I really love cheese. I also really love pasta. Fortunately these things were the foundation of our diet and we still had quite a bit of cheese left. So we made cheesy pasta and gourged ourselves. I was actually so full I was uncomfortable - loosen your pants uncomfortable. Glutony in it's true form. It was uncomfortable to sit, it was uncomforatble to stand...Why did you make me eat that?! Then at around 8:30 that night I looked up and the rain had stopped and the clouds had lifted over the towers. I yelled at Robert that I think this was our chance. We were planning on getting up early in the morning to see sunrise over the towers, but we could see the towers now! So we did the only appropriate thing, we nearly ran up the path the toweres. In a moment of doubt Robert told me that we were going to miss the light. To hell we are! Where this energy all of a sudden came from I have no idea. Maybe it was the cheese. And then, there they were, in all their glory. The picture perfect torres with the lake below. There was even some couds for added drama to catch the light of the setting sun.

We made it up just in time and stood in wonder at the sight. So this is what has been hiding under all those clouds? Robert took some pictures (my camera was dead at this point) and then we headed back down...running, just for the fun of it. The trail map says it should take 45min-1hr to get up to the lookout. We, however, made it up, took pictures and back down in 1hr20min.  Take that trek.

We were absolutely thrilled that we got a chance to see the towers and went to sleep dreaming that we would see the sun bathing the towers in glorious golden light.

We woke up to rain and thick heavy clouds. It was 4:30 in the morning...

But, when in Patagonia you get up anyway and hope that by the time you get to the lookout that the weather has changed. The only thing that changed was my core temperature as my clothes got soaked in the rain. We tired to wait it out and at least we got to see the colors of sun sweep across the valley below. As for the towers, you couldn't even tell they were there, just a big mass of clouds. But they were so clear yesterday!

I stood on a big rock and with a mixutre of sadness and gratitude looked back at the valley and the path that wound down out of the park. In a couple hours we would be packed up and waiting for a bus to take us back to Puerto Natales and the next day Robert would be going home. It was in that moment that I realized just how far this trek had really taken me. Yeah, we were right back were we started 7.5 days ago, but I felt like a different person. Sure, a smelly and blistered version of myself, but a stronger version too. It was almost in disbelief that I traced our route on the trail map...you mean, I walked all that? My low moment on Thanksgiving day felt like worlds away...and so did that sense of enchantment of seeing Campamento Dickson. Those moments of good, the laughing conversations, the mind-blowing too beautiful to be real views, the discomfort, the pain, the physical trials all seemed like worlds away.  And this too shall pass...

I remembered that when I was being challenged and vowed right there on that rock to remember that when the good happenes too, so I don't take it for granted and get caught up thinking about the next best thing. This is the next best thing. This life, this moment, this cloud covered view that last night was traced in gold.

I will be back and will take the lessons that this mountain tought me to move along her trails more gracefully.

Valparaiso

Valparaiso, a set on Flickr.

a city on the hills exploding with color

oooh...ahhhh...ugh....OW!

So alright, Valparaiso was a nice spot. It was funky and colorful, the artsy, rebellious sibling to straight-laced Santiago. My first thought when I started wandering the cerros (hills) of Valpo was that it was like an old woman in a teenagers outfit, from far away it looked hip and young, the forms were right, the energy was right, outrageousness of it was right…but upon closer inspection you saw that the foundations were weathered, the paint was chipped, the doors creaked and windows chattered. The older buildings had dark soot in their elaborate stonework and the ascensors (elevators) that rattled up the hills look like they hadn’t been updated since they were first constructed over 100 years ago. I think that’s what I liked about it. This place was different, it had personality. Each building was in competition with its neighbor to be the most outrageous, and the colors screamed for attention. Public art was sponsored in some areas and in others, wildly talented graffiti artists left their marks in huge murals that turned the whole city into a giant canvas. Down by the water the old cranes lifted, stacked and moved shipping containers as giant barges sat moored a close distance away on the water. It´s like San Francisco on steroids. Get down from the cerros to the flatter area by the shore and old trolley cars and 1980´s buses have their routes plastered across their windows in neon paint.

Everyone kept warning me to be careful in Valparaiso. It´s dangerous there! Don’t go out at night! The port area is dangerous and the sailors will get drunk and hit on you! People will try to mug you! Watch your purse, watch your camera! Be very careful when you go up the stairs because people can hide there and…be afraid! Be afraid! BE AFRAID! But this place was hypnotic, and the stairs wanted to be climbed, and I wanted to take pictures, and I like to watch the sunset over the water with the cranes frozen in position. I never felt concern, and never even had a moment where I felt unsafe. I can understand the reason why people want you to be cautious, you could easily get lost and turned around and be bait for anyone with bad intentions. Fortunately that was not my experience.

There is a nice boardwalk that connects Valparaiso to Viña Del Mar. I rented a bike and took a day to see this neighboring beach town. Everyone I met in Santiago, well the local Santiaguinos, kept telling me how beautiful Viña was. That I absolutely HAD to go, so I did. I don’t get it. I suppose it must be because it’s on the beach? I learned a word in Chilean spanish that I think captures my thoughts for Viña: fomme. It loosely translates to boring, bland, blah. Compared to the craziness and color of Valpo the only worthwhile thing about Viña was that there was a beach, where Valpo was just the port, but that was it. It was too clean, too structured, too same-same. For all I know it could have been a town in California, not that I have anything against California, but I want to FEEL like I´m somewhere else. I did finally break and eat a completo when I was there. I had been avoiding this cultural experience my entire stay in Chile. A completo is typical Chilean fast food, it consists of a hot-dog in a bun that is then COVERED in tomatoes, avocado (so far so good) and then a shit-ton of mayonnaise and ketchup. Barf in my mouth. What is it with these guys and mayo and hot-dogs? They really seem to love those two food items more than anything else. It´s bizarre. I tried to like it, I really did, but this is just one of those things I can’t seem to get behind, and let´s be honest, I´m ok with that. I like the empanadas, I like the sopapillas, I like the mote con huesillos, but I cannot dig the completo. Just the thought of trying to eat another one of those things gives me involuntary gag reflex. 

Anyway, the boardwalk is nice. It makes it easy to get to back and forth between Viña and Valpo by bike or on foot. You pass an area where there are sea lions just hanging out on some sort of abandoned structure in the water and pelicans fly around overhead. There are little cove beaches along the way, and one small strip with seafood restaurants. From what I hear these all get really busy in the summer when everyone from Santiago heads over for the weekends. It was pretty mellow when I visited, and the water was cold, cold, cold. I don´t imagine even on the hottest of days that I would try to brave that water, but there was a couple of kids splashing about. Leave it to kids to play in water that cold.

Overall, I liked my experience in Valparasio, but was so ready to leave the city and get back to the mountains. On my walk back to the bus station I was re-routed by police a block or so because there were protests going on. Not a problem for me. I don’t want to get in the middle of that that. I just want to get back to Santiago to pack my bag and prepare for Patagonia. The university students have been protesting for months, I think it’s getting close to almost a year. They are fighting for free education…and in the process have missed nearly a year of school. I am not educated on the matter, so I have no opinion here or there on the politics of the Chilean education system, however I now can say that I have had the experience of being tear-gassed thanks to these protests. I was just minding my own business, trying to get to the bus station to get back to Santiago and the fumes from the gas wafted right at me. I coughed. What the hell is that? My nose started burning. My eyes started burning. What the hell IS that?! I tried to hide my face in my sleeve, but the burning didn’t stop. Get me out of here!! I picked up the pace to a fast walk that morphed into a trot. It burned to breathe it in, I just wanted to get out of there and back to the mountains as soon as I could. I didn’t care if running made me breathe harder and the burn more pungent, each step was getting me that much closer to my goal.

I knew that when I got back to the house I was staying in that my hosts would ask me about my experience there. I was struggling with how I could tastefully tell them that I thought Viña was a bore. I mean, they were so excited for me to go and see it, and were sad they couldn’t go with me. I figured I would have to break it to them somehow. At first I tried the angle of just talking about how fun Valparaiso was. How much I enjoyed the colors and the buildings. I opted not to talk about Viña at all. But it was inevitable that they would ask, so I just said that I imagined it would be very nice on a sunny day, but that the day that I went was unfortunately cloudy.

I suppose it´s safe to say that, I didn’t want to hurt anyone´s feelings. Besides…at that point all I could think about was getting back down south. I was meeting my friend at the airport the next day and we were heading down to Torres Del Paine. In one short day, Viña and its terrible completo, and Valpo with its funky houses and tear-gassed streets would be worlds away. I am starting to learn that time on this trip doesn’t work the same as it does back home. The days fly by, it’s hard to believe that I am nearing 3 months... and yet somehow, hours feel like days.

rapa nui

rapa nui, a set on Flickr.

some Maoi, some horses, some beach...some pictures of a downright beautiful place.

A Rapa Nui lesson in sustainable living and building ass calluses

Sometimes I like to do things, not just because they're cool, but also because they SOUND cool when you tell people about it later. Things like eating a guinea pig, or going caving with bats, or biking around Easter Island. So yes, I went to Easter Island, and it rocked. Sure, it's beautiful, the Moai are eerie and magnificent at the same time, the snippets of Rapa Nui that are overheard in conversation are fun, the water is like something from a photoshopped picture, and there is something magical about wild horses running free, but that's not all. It does something far more important than that, it teaches us what will happen if we treat the world that we call home with a sense of entitlement and forget about that little thing called gratitude and respect.

Easter Island, as we know it (or Rapa Nui as the native people know it, or Isla de Pascua as the Chilean people know it) is a pretty remarkable thing. It's just a tiny little spec of land in the middle of the Pacific. The weather is favorable for living, and thus it became home for people...people of Polynesian descent. With that said, one would expect that this island and it's culture would resemble that of other small islands that dot the Pacific.You know, the likes of Tahiti or Hawaii. I can't speak for Tahiti, having never been there, and at first glance it did kind of have a surface resemblance to Hawaii....but notably less green, lush and far less developed. Why is this place so much less green? Look at the history of this place and it becomes clear...the people that initially inhabited this island got so wrapped up in tribal warfare and exploiting all their available resources to out-do their competition that they, well, eventually cut down every last tree and mostly everyone died. You would think that somewhere in the process that someone in any of the tribes would have said something, "uh, dude, we might want to cut this shit out, we're almost out of trees..." but alas, they did not, and to this day the island is mostly grassland. The few trees that do dot the island were planted far after the fact, and if I understood correctly, are all non-native species.

But it wasn't ALL in vain. Minus cutting down all the trees and basically killing off the population of the entire island, they got these pretty sweet Moai out of the deal. Which,  I will admit, are pretty amazing to look at. Unfortunately the majority of them are knocked down, that was another part of the game. After fighting with one another, the winning tribe would knock over the losers Moai as a show of superior strength. It's a pretty significant feat, these things are huge. I mean, really, really big. To this day no one is entirely sure how they moved them about the island like they did, or how they got them to stand up. They are everywhere. For an island this tiny, it's basically saturated with them. They live all along the coast, mostly facing inland or face down with their hats removed and rolled a fair distance away. There is only one that doesn't follow form, it's a grouping that lives inland and faces the sea. Another enigma for us to wonder...why are these fellows looking the other way? There is a theory that it has some astronomical significance, because at the summer equinox at sunset they face the setting sun perfectly.

The horses too were an interesting thing to see. They are mostly wild. I can't say entirely wild because they are clearly not native to the island. A lot of them also are marked as if they belong to someone, but they just run free all over the island. Apparently owning horses are signs of wealth, so they go out there, mark a horse and then let it run around until it dies. It wasn't an unusual sight to see the carcass of a horse along the side of the road, or to see packs of horses grazing on grass around the ruins. Don't get me totally wrong, the people there ride the horses too and use them to work as well, but it seems that the vast majority of the horses are just free to wander as they please.

I had almost a week to explore the island. Before I left, everyone kept telling me that 3 days was plenty of time to be there and that I would have nothing to do after that. Maybe so, if you drive everywhere, take just long enough to snap a picture and get back in the car, or have something against sitting and admiring nature. The pace of things was so pleasant there. I liked being back in my tent. I liked having hours of not seeing another living soul. I liked being able to sit and watch giant turtles for hours on end. I liked the quiet or if it wasn't quiet, it was the sound of rolling ocean waves. Yeah, Santiago is a nice city and all, but it is still a city. A big city in fact. With lots of people and cars and buses and subways and noise and pollution and stuff to buy and things to see and places to go and the buzz of needing to go, go, go! After spending a month in my tent in Patagonia, it was like experiencing mild shell shock. So even though I had great hosts, a wonderful place to stay and met friends who made sure I had a pleasant experience, I couldn't wait to get out of there and back to a slower pace and the space to breathe and just sit still.

Right after I got to the campground and setup my tent I was invited to go with a group of french travelers on their quad and see some of the island. Heck yes! I would love to go! So the first day I got around the island on the back of a quad. It was fun, and dirty, but helped me get my bearings a bit. From then on out, I explored the island from the saddle of a mountain bike or by hoofing it. The majority of the time I was on a bike, which I feel was a great way to explore the island. It allowed me to cover a lot of ground and take it in. I calculated it out, and in 3 days I rode somewhere around 100 km. It hurt to sit, I mean the actual act of being seated was painful after that, but what the hell. I did, in the process develop a whole new sense of respect for my friends that bike a lot. To those of you who fall into that category, I think I got it. Yeah...it can be pretty fun, and there it nothing better than coasting down a big old hill after giving it everything you've got to get up there.

There is only one beach on Easter Island, Anakena. It is straight out of a stock photo beautiful. The entrance to the beach is grass and tall swaying palm trees...there are even a few Moai standing watch. The grass fades and is replaced by white sand and the white sand eventually gets covered over by vibrant turquoise water. Part of what makes it so incredible is that it is the only beach on the island, but also, that the rest of the island is rock, black lava rock. Where in the world did this white sand come from? I have no idea, but I spent a whole day just sitting there and admiring it. Getting there and back is no easy task. There is one town on the island, Hanga Roa, it is the only place on the entire island where you can stay and the only place that you can buy anything. It also happens to be on the opposite side of the island as the only beach. 16km one way to be exact. It's a pretty nice ride though, being the only real paved road in the town, it was a welcome change from the bumpy dirt roads with mud puddles, giant potholes and loose rocks. Most people it seemed would just rent a car or a scooter, and zip from one Moai ruin to the next or across the island to the beach. I actually liked being on the bike. For the most part the roads were empty, the weather was pleasant, and if the view was knock your socks off beautiful, I could stop the bike right there and drink it in. I did that a lot.

It was interesting to watch the weather roll in and roll out. You could see for miles over the ocean, and see that yes, the rain was coming. But you could also see that it wasn't going to last. It was almost like watching time lapse satellite photos on from the weather channel. Yup, here comes the the clouds and the rain moving over the island. The winds will be coming in west and the storm will follow, expect afternoon sunshine. Done and done. I don't think I have ever seen anything like it.

 After my week was up and it was time to go back to Santiago, I was actually sad to leave. I was thinking about the bustling city again, and comparing that to the calming sound of the ocean. In my time there, I had actually grown a fondness for that place and its quirky Moai, its horses, its giant turtles, its schizophrenic weather. I had to slap myself a bit, and remind myself that this is still just the beginning of this adventure, and that there will be other places that I fall in love with. Besides, when I get back to the mainland I have to scoot on over to the coast and see Valparaiso. For some reason Santiago people are always raving about Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. When I get there, I will be sure to let you know. 

Patagonia overview...what and why.

So what exactly was I doing in Patagonia? What was my purpose in spending a
month in Valle Chacabuco other than just to see it? What is the guiding motive of the organization that I paid to do manual labor for and what cause was I helping support? Why, in my relatively novice status as a camper, did I feel inspired to live in a tent for a month in relatively difficult conditions? Why, as the lonely traveler, did I think it would be a good idea to do some communal living with complete strangers? How did I envision this time was going to help me find myself and ultimately my great life´s purpose? Funny you should ask...

I hadn't really thought of any of that. Justin had seen the movie 180degrees South, and we watched it together afterward. He told me, that if I plan on going to south america, that I need to go the estancia and volunteer. It just looked too amazing not to. That was pretty much all I knew, the rest I figured would all work out. If not, well, you can tolerate pretty much anything for a month.

So what about this organization, Conservacion Patagonica? What is it they are really trying to do? What's all this noise about Patagonia Sin Represas? Do the people here really support the creation of a new national park and what do they really think about a foreigner coming in and buying up a bunch of land with the promise of one day gifting it to the state? Sure, I had my doubts, but now...call me a convert. I believe in what they are doing down there, and if you feel inspired  by what I've written or by the pictures I've posted I encourage you to support this cause: visit, donate, volunteer. It really is an amazingly beautiful place. They call it salvaje, wilderness...and it really is wild, I can only hope that it stays that way. Please click on the links if you want to know more about the organizations and what they are doing. I will give you the cliffs notes version, but I really encourage you to look into it some more.

Fly into southern Chile and you see the posters everywhere, Patagonia ¡SIN REPRESAS! Which means, patagonia without dams. This region has huge powerful rivers and a large supply of the worlds fresh water and glaciers. Some claim it is the ideal place to build huge dams to supply some of Chile´s ever growing energy needs. Other say it is one of the last wild places on earth and that it should be preserved for the future generations and for the native flora and fauna distinct to this region. The argument goes that those that who make the policies in the north are not aware of the life of those who live in the south, who's lives would be most affected by the dams. I can't claim to understand either, as I am just passing through, but this much I do know, I have never seen a place so beautiful, and it would be heartbreaking if it were gone. It's difficult to imagine that someone would not see the inherent value of this wild place. That, given a little more infastructure, tourists would flock here to see it. But as with anything, there are always challenges.

The driving motive behind Conservacion Patagonica is to create the future patagonia national park. Once this land has been restored to it's native state(fences and invasive plant species removed and natural wildlife has had a chance to return) and the infastructure has been put in place (trails, campgrouds, visitor center, lodge) that they would like to combine the land of the estancia with two existing parks, Reserva Nacional Jeinimeni and Reserva Nacional Tamango to create one new super park - Reserva Nacional Patagonia. My job as a volunteer was to remove fences. This is no easy task, as the fences stretched across swamps, hills, calafate fields, rocks, mud, creeks and overgrown with grass. The estancia had originally been 32 distinct smaller estancias or farms. They were pastureland for thousands of sheep and cows. The land had been fenced off to seperate the distinct farms and to facilitate moving herds throught the year. To create this pastureland acres and acres were burned and trees were removed. Eventually the land became ineffective as it had been compromised by years of overgrazing. It was at this point that this land was purchased by Kris Tompkins. It was with the intention that it would be resotored. This has been a many year process, and now, the effects of the work are being seen.

With the fences gone, there are corriders that allow the animals to move as they naturally would. Guanacos now are a familiar sight throughout the entire park. Huemules too are free to move and breed, an important development as they are a threatented species. Most of the critters that I was lucky enough to see, have benefitted by the removal of fences. No longer trapped in small corners or killed when trying to pass them. We saw evidence of lives lost, in bones left entangled in the fences.

The work I did as a volunteer was to remove those fences. We encountered 2 different tasks, removal of standing fences, and removal of fences that had been partially taken down and rolled. The majority of the work that occured in the first week was to remove fences that were rolled. Believe it or not, this was actually harder. The last 3 were to take down standing fence. We all worked together as a group, usually split into partners, working on different tasks along the same fence line. For the most part it was fun work. A welcome change from sitting in a desk or wandering around all day with no real purpose. It was rewarding to see the fenceline disappear, to hear the thud of a post and it was wedged out of the ground, to watch the piles of rolled wire grow bigger and bigger and to know that know this stretch of land was free to recover as if man had never placed a fence there.

It was easy to loose track of time. I would have my head down working on the task at hand, and every so often take a look up and remember where I was and what I was doing. Every time the view would take my breath away. Don't get me wrong, it's hard work. Backbreaking labor, carrying tools, carrying wire, fighting your way through swap and calafate (a thorny bush) and mud. There were a couple of days we got pelted with rain and hail, and even with the correct gear your fingers would freeze from the cold. But that view, even on the hard days would make it all seem worthwhile. We'd hear the sporadic calls from the guanacos and remember why we were there. I hear you buddy, you don't have to worry about these fences anymore.

The incredible thing about the work was that we were able to visit parts of the park that most people will probably never get to see. We were pretty far from trails at times and it was exciting to know that we would be some of the few people to set foot on this land. Pretty cool. We had a decent amount of down time, especially in the last to weeks where we were taken on little excursions to see more of the park. To see huemules and the furthest stretches of the park and to swim in the lake. We had asados with the gauchos that worked and lived there, and heard stories of hunts and the life of a guacho. They taught us about the different flora and fauna...and told us about the history of the park, the region and the people.

We were told that yes, there is a lot of skepticism from the locals about what Tompkins is really doing. There are nasty rumors and fear from outside the park about what happens inside. The locals that work there work hard to inform the others what is really taking place. They hope that with time and education that people will understand that this park is for the good of everyone and the region; that it has the potential to provide jobs and livlihoods for those in the surrouding communities. They have a difficult task. There is not really a culture or tradition of camping and hiking. All the locals know is that this was once pastureland...and now, they can't use it like before. Those who know about the true motive of the park see it's value. That this could rival the likes of what is happeing in Torres del Paine. But like anything, to build trust and allow the shift in mindset takes time.

This project has been in the making for several years. It is well on it's way to becoming the future patagonia national park. I hope, that someday I can return with my family and share it. With pride be able to admit that yes, I was a small part of this and had a hand in helping. I was lucky enough to get to see the beauty of this place before it was finished. That the hours spent in manual labor and the dollars donated to the cause are worth it, because in 5 years, 20 years 100 years there will still be this magical wild place. The rivers will still be flowing freely and thanks to those miles of removed fences, so will the natual rhythm of the animals.

I didn't really have a greater plan when I came down other than just to learn a bit about this world and myself. I learned some things in Patagonia that I didn't expect. I learned that deep within me there is a connection to this world and an appreciation for its strength, its beauty and its principle that unfolds itself every day. I learned that I'm not afraid of the dark or spiders or swamps or snow or rain or dirt in my water. I learned that it's possible to feel refreshed after a long days work, and that physical labor doesn't have to be exhausting. I learned that it's possible to connect with strangers and almost instantly become friends if you just allow yourself to be open to the idea that we are all working for the same good.  I learned that even the noblest ideas can be met with resisence, but resistence can be overcome with love, hardwork and tenacity. But most importantly, I think my time in Valle Chacabuco, I learned of the fickleness of percieved need.

You didn't play a lot of team sports as a kid, did you?

Alright, I admit it. There are certain things that I don´t do well, like doing a half ass job. I credit my dad for that one and have this constant mantra in my head, "how you do anything is how you do everything." My mom warned me before I started this adventure, in a very stern voice she told me, "don´t you dare turn this into a business trip." But old habits die hard. I haven´t fully embraced the Chilean way of doing things, although I am learning. I am still punctual, I still have that truly american sentiment of, I can do it myself and I don´t need your help, I work fast and take few breaks. Yes...even when volunteering.


As long as I could remember I have never been a huge fan of group work. In school I always ended up taking on most of the responsibility and feeling like I was carrying the group. That said, I tended to shy away from it. In sport, it was the same thing, I'd rather win or lose my by own performance, knowing that if I just work harder it will work out. Well...I didn´t really have that option here. We were a group, we would be working together side by side, day in and day out. We would share responsibilities, share meals, share close living quarters, share supplies. There wasn´t a lot of space for "me" or "I". It was like being thrown blindly into some reality show to see what happens when a bunch of strangers have to get along in some idealistic quest to save Guanacos. I realized there would be potential for challenge. This whole group thing was really not my element. For the most part really, it worked out ok. We were all there with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm only someone who pays to work can muster. We all knew what we were getting into...and knew that we would have to play nice and get along. With the exception of a couple bitterly cold nights we all got along well. Even the nicest of people get short-tempered once in a while. Nothing too dramatic, it just meant someone retiring early to their tent to enjoy a couple moments of solitude or perhaps a snarky comment whispered under their breath.

The first days were the most awkward. We were all strangers and being strangers, had little to say to one another other than the basic pleasantries. The work required us to work in partners, so there was that first day of school nervousness about meeting your new friends, looking around, sizing one another up, trying to gauge who could possibly be your new bff and then working up the courage to talk to them...Hi, I'm Claudia, you want to me my partner?

I zoned in on my prosective partner. I'd like to belive that I have this skill of picking out my kindred spirits as far as work ethic is concerned. In the morning we had both worked independently, quietly doing our assigned tasks. But the time had come to partner up, the moment of truth. He was pretty quiet, and didn't say a whole lot, but was nice enough and worked hard. I can get behind this arragement, I don't need to talk all day.The first day went along pretty smoothly, and before I knew it, it was time to hike back down to camp. I thanked Andy for being a rockstar partner, and started down the path, chatting with one of the other girls in the group.

The following day Andy and I ended up working together again as the rest of the group had partnered up the same as the day before. We were quietly unrolling fence and cutting wire. Stacking the wire and wood in neat little piles, moving really fast at our task. Occasionally one of us would make a small comment about how beautiful it was there or make a suggestion about how to dismantle the fence faster. We took note of how uniform and tidy our piles were when compared to the other groups and took pride in how well we worked together. It was soon discovered that Andy had gone to school for architecture. What is it with me and running into design people? It's like some strange magnet, we just find each other. First the two guys in Putre and now Andy. But this did explain our compulsive desire to make our piles in such a way. It was almost like a competition we had created, unspoken to each other and to the rest of the group: WE WILL WORK FASTER AND BETTER.

We were moving like machines:
1. I would pull a roll out from the grass and find out where it started.
2. I would grab the end of the roll and walk it away and Andy would pull from the center until it was laying flat on the ground.
3. Andy would take the clippers and cut the wire so I could seperate the wood from the wire
4. I would gather bunches of wire and take them to the wire pile. Andy would take the wood the wood pile. Repeat.

We were stupid fast. Getting nearly 2 rolls done in the time the other partners did one. In the middle of one of the rolls, we were gloating a little about our method while we looked up the watch the others with their clearly inferior methods of fence dismantling and Andy looks at me with a knowing sidelong glance and says "you didn't play a lot of team sports as a kid, did you?" I respond, "No. Is it obvious? You didn't either, did you?" We both had to laugh. We were both far too competitive to be "team players" but here we were in a social experiement of communal living.

It wasn't long before we found another one of our kindred spirits. We adopted her into our partnership of fence destroyers and dubbed ourself the the dream team. It wasn't just in dismantling fences where the 3 of us (Annie, Andy and myself) seemed to work just a little bit harder and a little bit longer. Andy had developed the habit of always making the fires, he was good at it too, and in doing this earned himself the title of fireman. He'd get up before everybody by like 30 minutes to start the fire and begin the process of boiling water. Which, I have to admit was amazing. It was a saving grace to get up in the morning and stumble half asleep out of my tent to a fire already burning and warm water to put in my oatmeal. In the evenings when we would get back from working he'd walk down first thing to the barrel and start the fire so it would be ready when we wanted to start cooking. I adopted the task of always getting the water. Water for dishes, water for cooking, water for washing hands, water for tea/coffee, water for putting out the fire. Every time we needed more water, I'd make my way down to the creek to get it for the group. It's amazing how quickly you go through water when you don't have the convinience of just turning on the tap. Annie took on the role of food preparer and stirrer. I placed myself in between these two, the one in charge of the heat and the one in charge of the food. It was a good place to be.

During the day while working we would continue to work extra; volunteering to carry the tools, carry the lunch food, carry back fire wood. Even as our numbers in the group grew from 6 to 10, the 3 of us were still were doing more. There was one day in particular that really showcased our supergroup. We had to break down base camp and take down all the gear, the tools and the food. Of course the 3 of us were packed up first, so we started taking down and packing up the communal goods. Annie and I ended up with daypacks full of canned goods (read: super heavy) and some of the cookware and tools. We left some of the other heavy things to disperse among the group and were not suprised to find that no one else could take them. So the three of us again took on the task. This time I strapped a couple of parrot tools to my backpack and placed the rockbar on my shoulders. Let's recap, my backback had my personal gear, plus communal cookware and tools. My dayback, now on the front of my body was full of canned goods, AND I was also carrying a 5ft rockbar that we estimated weighed near 30 lbs. All said and done, I think I was carrying somewhere around 60-70lbs. Andy was in the same boat. Ironically, we were the 2 smallest people in the group. Hmmm...

But the choice was either take on the extra weight or make 2 trips out of it. Granted if we took 2 trips not everyone would have to go back. By this point I already knew that if I didn't take it, then I would be hiking that path again to get the stuff left behind...so fine, strap on another tool, I can carry it. This is how it went, the dream team, always taking on the extra. So no, I may not have played a lot of team sports, and neither did the other two, but here we were, taking one for the team. Explain that.

In retrospect I probably did it to myself and it didn't have to be that way. But like the saying goes, old habits do die hard. I can be extremely competitive. I don't like to ask for help. When I take on a task or make a commitment, I give it everything I have. And I have this nagging sense of responsibility to do the job if no one else can. So...thanks Dad, even when volunteering I still work like a horse. Sorry Mom, there was a couple days in there that turned all business. Now, looking back, it's kind of funny, and I hope that the sight of a 5ft tall girl carrying 60-70lbs made the guys of the group feel like a bunch of babies. I mean, let's be honest, one of the males brought rolling luggage. Who does that?!

At least I had the dream team by my side. Even with sweat running down our backs and faces, we could still give each other sidelong glances and shake our heads and laugh. No, we may not have played a lot of team sports as a kids, but we've got the fire, the water and the food.