The biggest reason I wanted to come to South America was to hike the famous Inca Trail, a 45km route consisting of original inca stone paths laid down 500 years ago to connect Macchu Pichu, the spiritual capital of the Incas, to Cuzco, the administrative capital of the empire. This is, of course, the most touristy thing you can do in Peru, but due to strict limits set by the peruvian government, only 500 people can be on the trail at any given time. This intense demand forced Mom and I to book ur trek almost a year ago, basically right after we had the plane tickets, and had left us ample time to worry about the physical demands and anticipate the excitement of resurrecting history. This was the last goal, the final exprience I would give myself on this nearly year long adventure, and the fact that my mom and were doing it together made it all the more special.
Part of me couldn´t wait to get to Cuzco for our orientation with our tour company, but a part of me was sad too. This marked the end of a very exciting period in my life, and of course I wanted to savor this time. But, like all of my travels, it came all to quickly, and before I knew it, after weeks of Mom worrying out loud, we were sitting in a circle with our trek group at our orientation.
"Hello and welcome." Our guide Cassiano started off normally. Then the unexpected-
"As you may know, the Peruvian farmers are planning a strike for two days on the fourth day of the trek, the day we were supposed to get into Macchu Pichu. They usually block the trains from Aguas Caliente, and so we have two options. We can either do the trek in four days and then you will have to stay in Aguas Caliente for two days, or we can do the trek in three days and return to Cuzco a day early. I´ll give you some time to decide."
You could literally feel the shockwave ripple through the room. The entirety of our group sat in stunned silence for a moment before errupting with indignant questions. I swear, I thought he was joking, a bold way to break the ice. But no, turns out sometimes this happens. Last time the farmers held a strike they even burned down a bridge, and the option of walking back along the train tracks was risky as sometimes the farmers get violent. Right, we are booking a trek in a third world country, this sort of stuff can happen. There was an hour of some questions, but mostly complaints, and some demands were met, but the general consensus was to do it in three days, as several people had flights during the blackout period. This upped the physical challenge, and likewise, the worries that Mom had for completeing it. But we didn´t really have a choice in the matter, so we prepared as best we could.
We started early, with a bus ride to our starting point at 5am. We had heard from other travellers that the first day is easy, you feel confident about the whole hike after that day, and then the second day, with it´s ascent over "Dead Woman´s Pass" at 4200 meters in the morning, plus another 1000 meter ascent in the afternoon kicks your ass. But actually, the first day had me worried. Not for Mom, but for myself. I was the youngest in the group (dominated by 30 somethings), and I was puffing away just a few steps ahead of Mom. Passing a girl being carried on a stretcher down the hill planted doubts in my mind about whether or not we would make it. Mom had similar concerns, but morning came on that second day, and we had to do it. It was really, really hard, it seemed like I stopped to catch my breath every ten steps, the pass seemed to move further away the longer I was on the path. I asked myself why I thought I wanted to do this, why I dragged my poor mother along, what sort of masochist pays money to do this. But, at the end of a long four hours, I met my group at the summit. My first words, just blurted out "I´m glad that woman is dead, she was a bitch." and I collapsed onto the sunny grass. 15 minutes later, there was Mom, chugging up the hill like the "I think I can" steam engine. We both had made it, survived it, but we still had 600 meters to descend before lunch, and another peak to climb before the end of the day. Strangely, maybe because of the strange endorphin rush of completeing the first pass, I had enough energy to relieve Mom of her backpack, and carried both hers and mine up the second pass, earning points with her previously lost in my attempts to coach her up the mountain.
The path, hard as it was, was so dramatically beautiful and varied. The first part of the day was all mountain grasslands and jagged peaks, after lunch it turned into subtropical rainforest filled with butterflies and blooming wildflowers, and the last part of the second day was cloud forrest, with mist and fog completely obscurring all veiws, until it would suddenly clear and reveal a huge dark peak or inca ruin just meters away from us. The last inca site we visited that day was at sunset, but in the cloud forrest, so the clouds were lit in gold, pink and blue, creating a fairytale castle setting that inspired me to run out my memory card on my camera. Over dinner, I came to my senses, and cleared out some of my less interesting shots, because we still had a full day of hiking and the grand Macchu Pichu ahead of us the next very full day.
I never thought of walking down stairs as difficult, but I suppose I had never done it for hours at a time before, because the third day, after 4 hours of descent, my thighs were quivering with effort, my calves were sore, even my right elbow hurt from taking so much weight with my walking stick. At lunch, we still had an hour and a half to hike to the sun gate, the entrance to Macchu Pichu, and we were running behind schedule. Everyone was getting antsy, and after we were done eating, most of the group took off like a shot. I surprised myself, practically jogging the last leg, with some cruelly steep stairs called The Monkey Stairs, as they are so vertical you climb them with your hands like a monkey. Finally, I saw the sun gate at the top of the path, and sustained the final push until I had my first veiw of Macchu Pichu stretching out before me, the familiar sight that I had never before seen with my own eyes. It was magnifacent, and yet, anticlimactic in a way. Every turn on the path I had hiked was equally as beautiful a setting, every ruin was interesting and mysterious and way less choked with tourists, or "cheaters" and "losers" as we had taken to calling the throngs that had arrived on the comfort of a 4 hour train from Cuzco to day trip the famous spot. The inca trail was all ours (well, sort of, remember, there are 500 people a day allowed on the trail, but comparitively private), so special and challenging, and suddenly we having the same experience as 2000 other tourists, it seemed a little like they weren't worthy to be there. Then, as if to right the wrong, the sky opened up and rained. All the Loser Cheaters fled to the safety of buses, and the Lost City was (almost)exclusivesly ours. We followed Cassiano through the complex, getting the highlights and snapping photos of the iconic city now veiled with mist and clouds. Though we didn't get our full day at Macchu Pichu, I felt like the time we did have was great. But for me the real highlight of the experience was the challenge, the sense of accomplishment and the special bond with my mom for doing this together that will be ours forever.
As the whistles signaling the closing of the park sounded, we shuffled to the bus, snuggled down in the first proper seats we had had in three days, and headed to Aguas Caliente town for dinner. But the adventure wasn't over for us yet. Our farewell dinner of pasta had a condition attatched: eat it in four minutes then (literally!)run to catch the train. Running for a train after 3 intense days of mountianous hiking and shoveling at least a quarter of a pound of pasta into your gullet in under 5 minutes is a less than pleasent exprience, but we made it onto the train, completely exhausted. Relaxing into the motion of the train, we made easy conversation with fellow travellers who had done the hike, chatting about the upcoming strike, the hiking experience and trail gossip (remember the girl on the stretcher?), when suddenly, out of the darkness, I caught a glimps of a large fire. The farmers on strike had begun to set the fleilds alight on either side of the train tracks. Then, to add to the dread beginning to build in my stomach, the train came to a stop a few minutes later, no station, no city, just dark country side all around us. We sat and waited for about 20 minutes, but there was nothing. Then, we just started up again, and there were no other disturbances. The whole experience was a little eerie, but we piled into our waiting transport van and set of to Cuzco, an hour and a half away. After only 10 minutes, we got a flat tire, no big deal, but it was getting later and later, and we had already been delayed on the train. After it was fixed, we got going again, and I nodded off. It must have been at least an hour when I woke up startled by "Oh my god, they're rolling rocks into the road." The farmers had begun to block the roads, too, with large stones that would seriously damage a car. Our driver kept his cool, and navigated around the blockage, but he did seem tense. It was already so late, we really shouldn't have been out on the roads, and after that I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept flashing to that scene in Children of Men when the car full of heroes gets attacked on the road by a violent mob. I knew that wouldn't happen to us, but I have a really, really good imagination, and can froth myself into a tizzy in much more benign circumstances, and I felt guilty for bringing my mom into what could turn into a bad situation.
At 2am, we pull up to the hostel that has been provided by the trek company to compensate for our missing night, and we roll into bed and pass out. It was over, the whole thing. We were back safe and sound, with an exprience of a lifetime under our belts. The crowning jewel in my eight month adventure is over. Now Mom and I aimlessly wander around Cuzco, our remaining days spent doing nothing of consequence. It's just, after hiking 3 days to Macchu Pichu, nothing else really seems worth doing. Now, I just look forward to being home, to being able to tell my stories over dinner to friends, to relive my trip combing through my nearly 1600photos, to just be in one place for a while. But, knowing myself, I'm sure it won't be long before I'm planning my next adventure.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Getting High
Shortness of Breath. Dizziness. Tingling in the extremities. Confusion. Cerebral Edema. Death. These are all the lovely symptoms of altitude sickness.
Bolivia is a place known for its altitude, the highest of everything seems to be here. I was a little apprehensive of gaining 2000 meters upon our entrance to Bolivia to out first destination, Tupiza, after what happened on Mt Blanc in France 2 years ago (what happened- my head felt like a deflated balloon and I couldn't stand up until we descended, it was embarrassing). Mom and I spent our day in Salta (among other things, like seeing a 500 year old incan mummy) considering the problems we might have, and how we would deal with them. I was satisfied with our plan to take altitude meds, drink coca tea and turn around if stuff got really hairy. Mom seemed more concerned, and when she, as a nurse, is concerned about health matters, I find it hard not to worry.
The bus from Salta dropped us unceremoniously 1 km from the border. Uhhh, take a taxi? Well, we had no more small bills, as our plan was to change our hundreds of Argentine pesos into Bolivianos once we crossed the border. A couple who was on the bus with us, Cole and Vesa, originally from Macedonia, but living in Australia for the past 20 years, helped us out with a taxi to the border. After an what seemed like an hour (I had been waiting to pee for 5 hours, having no small bills to pay for a toilet in Argentina) filling out Bolivian Visa and Customs forms. Finally, we got across, toted our mass of luggage to the currency exchange place and bought bus tickets. We had to wait about an hour, but with bladder relieved, we stood around our luggage exchanging travel stories. Despite the fact we were cleary guarding our bags, a "blind" woman tried to pick moms pocket and grab the handle of her bag. we shooed her off, but jeez. Border towns are sinister places, after all.
We get on a dusty local bus, packed with locals and dotted with westerners, headed to Tupiza. The coutryside is something out of a western movie, which makes me heady with excitment (maybe the alitude?) for the horseback riding we planned to do. We get into town, and Cole and Vesa help us to sort out a hotel, we end up next door to them... and going out to dinner with them... and booking a two tours with them. They had traveled a lot, and had a lot of stories about that and about Macedionia, which apparently is a country that has everything good imaginable, but the Greeks or whoever steals it from them. Lets just say they had a lot of hometown pride.
The next day we leave on a jeep-horseriding combo tour that takes us to some of the stunning geological formations around Tupiza. The area around Tupiza was the famous final showdown for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the setting couldnt be more perfect for a cowboy adventure. Red, white, yellow, green rocks- in towering spires, deep canyons, and arch windows made every turn a postcard perfect photo. I was snapping away all day- which was fine while we were in the jeep, but my horse had a habit of breaking into a full gallop at the slightest whim, often times when I was just framing a shot, and I had to give up the picture in exchange for holding on for my life. I am truly amazed my camera survived the beating, ending up often times bewteen me and the saddle.
The next day, after being conned out of 3 Bolivianos by a spiteful hotel mistress, who I suspect stole my jewelry (all of which was cheap paste jewelry, basically valueless, except for sentimental reasons as I collected most of it on my trip), we left for a four day 4x4 tour of the Southwestern Curcuit and Salar de Uyuini. The trip took us up even further, maxing out at 4850 meters (thats nearly 16,000 ft folks!), taking us past scores of llamas (careful! they spit!), brilliant colored lagoons filled with flamingoes, volcanoes, crazy Dali-esque rock formations, and the blinding whiteness of the largest salt flat in the world. The scenery was spectacular, and the weather ranged from damn cold to colder than Antartica. And Vesa and Cole would know, they just came back from a tour to Antartica, as they told us several times (turns out they wanted to get thorough use out of their interesting stories by telling them to us over and over). We slept in unheated concrete buildings on concrete beds decked out in all of our clothes. Well, thats being unfair, the last hotel was made out of salt bricks that they had mined from the salar, so that was cool. Sunrise on the saltflats was one of those beautiful moments that you just want to freeze in your mind- the raised cracks in the flat whiteness catching the pink light of the new day creating an endless web of delicate color and white, against a saturated blue sky, one of the most specatular sights on earth. Definatley a highlight. Definatley worth getting up at four am, and enduring 4 days of rough dirt roads with Grandma and Grandpa Macedonia, and sleeping on freezing cold concrete. After the sun rises, the salar becomes an endless stretch of white in all directions, like a huge ice lake. We raced through it to the original salt hotel (a hotel made completely out of salt, with salt chairs and tables and clocks and beds) and the salt mine. After some ado, we said goodbye to our tour group, and booked our bus into La Paz, our next destination. Fingers crossed that 1. we make it there in one peice 2. our luggage decides to grace us with its presense 3. that the shopping in La Paz is really as good as all this hearsay. Until then!
Bolivia is a place known for its altitude, the highest of everything seems to be here. I was a little apprehensive of gaining 2000 meters upon our entrance to Bolivia to out first destination, Tupiza, after what happened on Mt Blanc in France 2 years ago (what happened- my head felt like a deflated balloon and I couldn't stand up until we descended, it was embarrassing). Mom and I spent our day in Salta (among other things, like seeing a 500 year old incan mummy) considering the problems we might have, and how we would deal with them. I was satisfied with our plan to take altitude meds, drink coca tea and turn around if stuff got really hairy. Mom seemed more concerned, and when she, as a nurse, is concerned about health matters, I find it hard not to worry.
The bus from Salta dropped us unceremoniously 1 km from the border. Uhhh, take a taxi? Well, we had no more small bills, as our plan was to change our hundreds of Argentine pesos into Bolivianos once we crossed the border. A couple who was on the bus with us, Cole and Vesa, originally from Macedonia, but living in Australia for the past 20 years, helped us out with a taxi to the border. After an what seemed like an hour (I had been waiting to pee for 5 hours, having no small bills to pay for a toilet in Argentina) filling out Bolivian Visa and Customs forms. Finally, we got across, toted our mass of luggage to the currency exchange place and bought bus tickets. We had to wait about an hour, but with bladder relieved, we stood around our luggage exchanging travel stories. Despite the fact we were cleary guarding our bags, a "blind" woman tried to pick moms pocket and grab the handle of her bag. we shooed her off, but jeez. Border towns are sinister places, after all.
We get on a dusty local bus, packed with locals and dotted with westerners, headed to Tupiza. The coutryside is something out of a western movie, which makes me heady with excitment (maybe the alitude?) for the horseback riding we planned to do. We get into town, and Cole and Vesa help us to sort out a hotel, we end up next door to them... and going out to dinner with them... and booking a two tours with them. They had traveled a lot, and had a lot of stories about that and about Macedionia, which apparently is a country that has everything good imaginable, but the Greeks or whoever steals it from them. Lets just say they had a lot of hometown pride.
The next day we leave on a jeep-horseriding combo tour that takes us to some of the stunning geological formations around Tupiza. The area around Tupiza was the famous final showdown for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and the setting couldnt be more perfect for a cowboy adventure. Red, white, yellow, green rocks- in towering spires, deep canyons, and arch windows made every turn a postcard perfect photo. I was snapping away all day- which was fine while we were in the jeep, but my horse had a habit of breaking into a full gallop at the slightest whim, often times when I was just framing a shot, and I had to give up the picture in exchange for holding on for my life. I am truly amazed my camera survived the beating, ending up often times bewteen me and the saddle.
The next day, after being conned out of 3 Bolivianos by a spiteful hotel mistress, who I suspect stole my jewelry (all of which was cheap paste jewelry, basically valueless, except for sentimental reasons as I collected most of it on my trip), we left for a four day 4x4 tour of the Southwestern Curcuit and Salar de Uyuini. The trip took us up even further, maxing out at 4850 meters (thats nearly 16,000 ft folks!), taking us past scores of llamas (careful! they spit!), brilliant colored lagoons filled with flamingoes, volcanoes, crazy Dali-esque rock formations, and the blinding whiteness of the largest salt flat in the world. The scenery was spectacular, and the weather ranged from damn cold to colder than Antartica. And Vesa and Cole would know, they just came back from a tour to Antartica, as they told us several times (turns out they wanted to get thorough use out of their interesting stories by telling them to us over and over). We slept in unheated concrete buildings on concrete beds decked out in all of our clothes. Well, thats being unfair, the last hotel was made out of salt bricks that they had mined from the salar, so that was cool. Sunrise on the saltflats was one of those beautiful moments that you just want to freeze in your mind- the raised cracks in the flat whiteness catching the pink light of the new day creating an endless web of delicate color and white, against a saturated blue sky, one of the most specatular sights on earth. Definatley a highlight. Definatley worth getting up at four am, and enduring 4 days of rough dirt roads with Grandma and Grandpa Macedonia, and sleeping on freezing cold concrete. After the sun rises, the salar becomes an endless stretch of white in all directions, like a huge ice lake. We raced through it to the original salt hotel (a hotel made completely out of salt, with salt chairs and tables and clocks and beds) and the salt mine. After some ado, we said goodbye to our tour group, and booked our bus into La Paz, our next destination. Fingers crossed that 1. we make it there in one peice 2. our luggage decides to grace us with its presense 3. that the shopping in La Paz is really as good as all this hearsay. Until then!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
City vs Jungle
I wasn't sure what expect from Buenos Aires before we got to it. From my initial research describing it as the Paris of South America, a international fashion hub, with world class nightlife, restaurants and culture, I wanted to spend a large chunk of time there. But after a underwhelming impression of Santiago, and some reports for other travellers that ¨It´s just a big city¨, I was a little more hesitant to spend (and I mean spend, time is a precious currency to us with so much to see and do) so much time there. As we arrived on the freeway we could see row after row of apartment buildings, lots of cars, big roads (oddly, a semi pulling a load of live cattle... judging from their sizes, future steaks of the restaurants) it was living up to the big city description. But after navigating the dizzying hive of the international bus station, the taxi ride to the hotel along bustling tree line boulevards dotted with classic looking building, we were charmed. Yes, it is a big city. A Big Charming Exciting Vibrant City. We wandered the streets of downtown, salivating over shop windows filled with shoes and purses. We strolled through the parks, enjoying the botanical garden, and oasis to stray cats, guarded from the city´s dog population by a iron fence. We lingered the neighborhoods that could easily steal away your day, comfy corner cafes and shops, a pleasant feeling completely different from the pounding pulse of downtown. But, as I feel with all destinations, it´s who you meet that makes the place. Mom and I met up with a friend of Ian´s, Sabina, down from San Francisco to house sit at a friend of a friend´s apartment in Palermo. We had such a lovely time with her, indulging in Vietnamese food so expensive no person in Vietnam could afford, ogling goods at San Telmo´s famous market, sharing a pitcher of sangria in a square watching tango dancers. After several days, with one day trip to Colonia Uruguay, a sleepy little colonial (would you have ever guessed it?) town, we left the city and headed to the jungle.
We arrived in Puerto Iguazu to a hostel that looked like club med overrun by a frat party. The atmosphere was predatory, and I grew frustrated with the lack of genuine people to connect with. After a few false starts, where I´d chat to someone for a minute, and we´d both enjoy the company, suddenly, a switch would go off and they would remember their primary mission: finding someone to hook up with. Whatever, Mom and I had better things to do- like go to Iguazu Falls.
The legend of how Iguazu formed: a young warrior was paddling his maiden love down the river, but the river god was jealous and split the river in two, separating the lovers, turning her into a rock at the bottom of the falls and the warrior into a tree at the top, leaning over looking for her. I don´t feel like petty jealously could create something so monumental, so grand and spectacular. The power of the falls is thrilling, especially the provocatively named devils throat, even in dry season (now), and the surrounding park is lush jungle populated by the most lovely butterflies in such quantities as to drive a photographer mad with so many perfect picture possibilities. I think I took more picture of butterflies than I did of waterfalls, and there are a lot of waterfalls. All in all, a wonderful place, a wonderful day. Now, Mom and I are going to soak up one last day of rest in luxury before we embark on an epic 23 hour bus ride followed by another 9 hour bus ride into Bolivia. Here's hoping we survive it and not run away like scared little girls!
We arrived in Puerto Iguazu to a hostel that looked like club med overrun by a frat party. The atmosphere was predatory, and I grew frustrated with the lack of genuine people to connect with. After a few false starts, where I´d chat to someone for a minute, and we´d both enjoy the company, suddenly, a switch would go off and they would remember their primary mission: finding someone to hook up with. Whatever, Mom and I had better things to do- like go to Iguazu Falls.
The legend of how Iguazu formed: a young warrior was paddling his maiden love down the river, but the river god was jealous and split the river in two, separating the lovers, turning her into a rock at the bottom of the falls and the warrior into a tree at the top, leaning over looking for her. I don´t feel like petty jealously could create something so monumental, so grand and spectacular. The power of the falls is thrilling, especially the provocatively named devils throat, even in dry season (now), and the surrounding park is lush jungle populated by the most lovely butterflies in such quantities as to drive a photographer mad with so many perfect picture possibilities. I think I took more picture of butterflies than I did of waterfalls, and there are a lot of waterfalls. All in all, a wonderful place, a wonderful day. Now, Mom and I are going to soak up one last day of rest in luxury before we embark on an epic 23 hour bus ride followed by another 9 hour bus ride into Bolivia. Here's hoping we survive it and not run away like scared little girls!
Monday, April 20, 2009
"Roughing It" with wine, steak and chocolate
I missed Christmas this year. Obviously, I was away, but I was in the heat of summer, away from my family and without the means to treat myself to anything special. So, in a very real sense, I didn´t have a Christmas. After one day in Bariloche, I feel like I ´ve had the fall I missed, and a taste of the Christmas cheer that I was craving so badly. The town is big into ephisizing it´s swiss german roots, so all the buildings are either log cabins or stone cottages, oozing cute, and the crisp but delightful weather and incredible mountianous scenery makes you feel like you are in some fairy tale village. Window shopping with mom in cold weather here is bringing me right back to when we would do it around christmas, and popping into one of the many chocolate shops to have a "posh coffee" and pastry makes if feel even more like a holiday treat. We were both charmed into staying two extra days here, but the hilight was not the town it´s self, but the day long trail ride we did on horseback today through the countryside here, half spent in pine forrests, the other half galloping across the open grasslands, and of course the typical Argentine asado parrilla, or bbq (with wine!). We were definately livng out our cowboy fantasies, feeling the wind whip across your face as you ride off into the horizion. By mutual agreement, we are going to do more riding in Bolivia, in some rugged canyons that are Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid territory.
Much to my delight, Mom is taking to traveling in hostels like a duck to water. All of the kids my age all want to talk to her, and it´s nice to see her responding so positivley. Every now and again she turns to me and says, "oh I am having so much fun!" and it just makes me feel so glad, so happy to be able to share this special experience with her, and thriled that she is enjoying just as much as I am. Maybe even more. It just makes me feel proud of her, silly as that sounds. Well, off to Buenos Aires tomorrow, in our first class bus! with chocolate provisions! As I said, we are roughing it.
Much to my delight, Mom is taking to traveling in hostels like a duck to water. All of the kids my age all want to talk to her, and it´s nice to see her responding so positivley. Every now and again she turns to me and says, "oh I am having so much fun!" and it just makes me feel so glad, so happy to be able to share this special experience with her, and thriled that she is enjoying just as much as I am. Maybe even more. It just makes me feel proud of her, silly as that sounds. Well, off to Buenos Aires tomorrow, in our first class bus! with chocolate provisions! As I said, we are roughing it.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
It has been ages since I last wrote, and so much has happened, so I guess I have to start at the beginning.
The trip from Queenstown to Auckland was easy, I got there in plenty of time, had a relaxed airport lunch, then ambled down to my gate to check in. I sat down with the groups of people already massing, and I groaned at the fact it was going to be a packed flight. Five minutes later, the desk attended pages 'passanger Hicks'. "Oh God," I think "Is there something wrong with my ticket? Did the visa law change? Did my flight get rescheduled without me knowing about it?" And a thousand variations of that ran through my head as I walked up, smiled, and said "I'm passanger Hicks."
"Boarding pass, please."
I swallowed hard, feeling my stomach drop. After what seemed like AGES, including a phone call in Spainish in which my name was mentioned a few times, and much pecking on the keyboard, he looks up at me and smiles.
"You've receive a complimentary upgrade to business class. I'll print your new boarding pass in a moment. Please take a seat over there."
I laughed in half relief and half suprise. I couldn't believe my luck, a 10 hour flight in business class. That has definately never happened to me before.
After a 3 course dinner includeing smoked salmon, vension and pear salad, a 'trio' of cheeses, chocolate mouse, and amazing Chilean wine, I suggled into my fully relined massaging chair to watch "Rachel Getting Married" and then drifted off to sleep. I woke up just an hour before we touched down in Santiago, feeling great. It's the only way to travel.
Sanitago didn't charm me, it was, kindly put, just another big city. It had some nice things to see, like a few hills that gave vistas of the city (when the smog wasn't too thick) one of Neruda's homes, a winery or two, some colorful neighbors hoods and nice, european style plazas, but mostly it was just a big, not to clean, semi modern city where everyone speaks spainish. The hilight for me was meeting up with my friend Izzy, from my way back first stop of Hong Kong, who showed me around and took me to her house to meet her family, who were absolutely lovely. In fact, most of the Chileans I met were absolutley lovely, giving mom and I an unsolicated ride because we were lost, or pointing out good places to go, and just generally being kind. I guess that's what Sanitago has going for it, it's full of Chileans.
Then Mom (who arrived a day late due to a flight mishap, which I felt strangely guilty about, like I have used up all of our collective plane luck)and I headed North to Valparaiso. This has been described as one of the most romantic cities in Chile, a shutterbugs dream, etc. Yeah, I think maybe there is a secret Valparaiso that has all these things and we got sent to the dumpy, dirty crap one that sucks. Okay, maybe that is a bit harsh, and that's not to say we didn't enjoy ourselves, but I think I was was expecting a much nicer town, and was let down. I enjoyed the day trips we took to Vina Del Mar, Ilsa Negra and the Casablanca valley much more.
Vina was just what Valpo should have been, a nice beach town full of Chileans on vacation. Ilsa Negra is Neruda's favorite house. It is so creative (full of antique ship figure heads and other eccentricitys) and lovely, and it's set on a beautiful wave crashing beach. It's easy to see how he was so inspired in a place like that. Casablanca was a detour into luxury, wine tasting at two vineyards, with a little bus snafu in the middle. So, at our first winery we had 3 rather large (half a glass) tastings, paired with amazing cheese, but on a generally empty stomach. We asked them to call us a cab to our next stop, but they insisted that the bus would be just as easy and cheaper by about 2500 pesos (roughly 5 bucks). We just had to wave one down, and tell them the name of the vinyard, Vina Mar. Well, unfortunately, in the same direction as our desired destination, but about 1 hour further, lies the town of Vina del Mar. You can see where this is going. After about 15 min of bus riding and a very expensive ticket to just head 4 km down the road, we sort out that we want off. We then try to get a bus to take us back in the other direction, but they all insist that we want Vina Del Mar. Finally, after about 8000 pesos ($15) later,we just catch a bus back to Casablanca and cab it to the other vinyard. Moral of the story is: it is unreasonable to release two tipsy gringas who speak no spainish onto a Chilean highway with some vauge instructions about flagging down a bus and expect good results. At least when it's me and Mom.
Our next stop, Pucon, was as picturesque as Valpo had been disapointing. German influence meant adorable log cabin style buildings in a small tourist town in the shadow of the impossibly conical volcano Villarica, on the banks of a lake of the same name. Our adventrue in Pucon would be to climb to the summit of that volcano, 2847 meters up, across the glacier that sits upon it. We started off, and quickly became "the slow group". I was grateful to have mom requesting breaks every few minutes so I wouldn't have to ask for them. She at least has the excuse of being... not 23? The hike was tough, but bearable, and then we got to the glacier, where we put on our crampons and gators and the angle started to make it look impossible. After a punishing hour on the glacier, Mom decided that she couldn't make it up, she might not have the energy to go down. The last 300 meters were off the ice, but a basically vertical ascent climbing over volcanic rock. I was so tired after hiking up some pretty steep stuff for the past 5 hours, but I was also determined. My now exclusive guide and I powered our way up past all the groups coming back down. I would look up and see the top, and it would only be 20 feet away, then get up there and there was another 100 ft to go. "What the hell was I thinking." crossed my mind more than a few times. Finally, mercifully, we reached the summit. We were the only ones there, being the last to reach the top. The crater loomed, pumping out sulfuric gasses that burned my eyes and throat, but veiw was amazing. Worth the hours of gueling ascent and money we payed. I was a little too tired to really feel pleased with myself though. After a rest, we headed down. The guide warned me that it would be difficult and dangerous to go down hill. But after keeping up with his breakneck down hill ski-jog, he seemed glad that I wasn't diplaying any problems going down. He even sat me down to slide down the glacier, it was like sledding without a sled, it was so fun and got me down in 2 min what had taken me a hour to get up. After that, on the way down, I started to feel the glow of having climbed a freakin mountain! I was exhausted and blistered but happy. We went to the local geothermal hotspring that night to soak it out. As a girl said "A volcano you can climb with a natural hotspring a few km away, that's just good planning." The hotspring was lovely, unfortunately, it didn't save me from the extreme pain of sore legs the next day. I pretty much just hobbled around like an old lady, but every time I looked up at the mountain in the distance, I could think "yeah, volcano, you may have kicked my ass, but I kicked yours."
The trip from Queenstown to Auckland was easy, I got there in plenty of time, had a relaxed airport lunch, then ambled down to my gate to check in. I sat down with the groups of people already massing, and I groaned at the fact it was going to be a packed flight. Five minutes later, the desk attended pages 'passanger Hicks'. "Oh God," I think "Is there something wrong with my ticket? Did the visa law change? Did my flight get rescheduled without me knowing about it?" And a thousand variations of that ran through my head as I walked up, smiled, and said "I'm passanger Hicks."
"Boarding pass, please."
I swallowed hard, feeling my stomach drop. After what seemed like AGES, including a phone call in Spainish in which my name was mentioned a few times, and much pecking on the keyboard, he looks up at me and smiles.
"You've receive a complimentary upgrade to business class. I'll print your new boarding pass in a moment. Please take a seat over there."
I laughed in half relief and half suprise. I couldn't believe my luck, a 10 hour flight in business class. That has definately never happened to me before.
After a 3 course dinner includeing smoked salmon, vension and pear salad, a 'trio' of cheeses, chocolate mouse, and amazing Chilean wine, I suggled into my fully relined massaging chair to watch "Rachel Getting Married" and then drifted off to sleep. I woke up just an hour before we touched down in Santiago, feeling great. It's the only way to travel.
Sanitago didn't charm me, it was, kindly put, just another big city. It had some nice things to see, like a few hills that gave vistas of the city (when the smog wasn't too thick) one of Neruda's homes, a winery or two, some colorful neighbors hoods and nice, european style plazas, but mostly it was just a big, not to clean, semi modern city where everyone speaks spainish. The hilight for me was meeting up with my friend Izzy, from my way back first stop of Hong Kong, who showed me around and took me to her house to meet her family, who were absolutely lovely. In fact, most of the Chileans I met were absolutley lovely, giving mom and I an unsolicated ride because we were lost, or pointing out good places to go, and just generally being kind. I guess that's what Sanitago has going for it, it's full of Chileans.
Then Mom (who arrived a day late due to a flight mishap, which I felt strangely guilty about, like I have used up all of our collective plane luck)and I headed North to Valparaiso. This has been described as one of the most romantic cities in Chile, a shutterbugs dream, etc. Yeah, I think maybe there is a secret Valparaiso that has all these things and we got sent to the dumpy, dirty crap one that sucks. Okay, maybe that is a bit harsh, and that's not to say we didn't enjoy ourselves, but I think I was was expecting a much nicer town, and was let down. I enjoyed the day trips we took to Vina Del Mar, Ilsa Negra and the Casablanca valley much more.
Vina was just what Valpo should have been, a nice beach town full of Chileans on vacation. Ilsa Negra is Neruda's favorite house. It is so creative (full of antique ship figure heads and other eccentricitys) and lovely, and it's set on a beautiful wave crashing beach. It's easy to see how he was so inspired in a place like that. Casablanca was a detour into luxury, wine tasting at two vineyards, with a little bus snafu in the middle. So, at our first winery we had 3 rather large (half a glass) tastings, paired with amazing cheese, but on a generally empty stomach. We asked them to call us a cab to our next stop, but they insisted that the bus would be just as easy and cheaper by about 2500 pesos (roughly 5 bucks). We just had to wave one down, and tell them the name of the vinyard, Vina Mar. Well, unfortunately, in the same direction as our desired destination, but about 1 hour further, lies the town of Vina del Mar. You can see where this is going. After about 15 min of bus riding and a very expensive ticket to just head 4 km down the road, we sort out that we want off. We then try to get a bus to take us back in the other direction, but they all insist that we want Vina Del Mar. Finally, after about 8000 pesos ($15) later,we just catch a bus back to Casablanca and cab it to the other vinyard. Moral of the story is: it is unreasonable to release two tipsy gringas who speak no spainish onto a Chilean highway with some vauge instructions about flagging down a bus and expect good results. At least when it's me and Mom.
Our next stop, Pucon, was as picturesque as Valpo had been disapointing. German influence meant adorable log cabin style buildings in a small tourist town in the shadow of the impossibly conical volcano Villarica, on the banks of a lake of the same name. Our adventrue in Pucon would be to climb to the summit of that volcano, 2847 meters up, across the glacier that sits upon it. We started off, and quickly became "the slow group". I was grateful to have mom requesting breaks every few minutes so I wouldn't have to ask for them. She at least has the excuse of being... not 23? The hike was tough, but bearable, and then we got to the glacier, where we put on our crampons and gators and the angle started to make it look impossible. After a punishing hour on the glacier, Mom decided that she couldn't make it up, she might not have the energy to go down. The last 300 meters were off the ice, but a basically vertical ascent climbing over volcanic rock. I was so tired after hiking up some pretty steep stuff for the past 5 hours, but I was also determined. My now exclusive guide and I powered our way up past all the groups coming back down. I would look up and see the top, and it would only be 20 feet away, then get up there and there was another 100 ft to go. "What the hell was I thinking." crossed my mind more than a few times. Finally, mercifully, we reached the summit. We were the only ones there, being the last to reach the top. The crater loomed, pumping out sulfuric gasses that burned my eyes and throat, but veiw was amazing. Worth the hours of gueling ascent and money we payed. I was a little too tired to really feel pleased with myself though. After a rest, we headed down. The guide warned me that it would be difficult and dangerous to go down hill. But after keeping up with his breakneck down hill ski-jog, he seemed glad that I wasn't diplaying any problems going down. He even sat me down to slide down the glacier, it was like sledding without a sled, it was so fun and got me down in 2 min what had taken me a hour to get up. After that, on the way down, I started to feel the glow of having climbed a freakin mountain! I was exhausted and blistered but happy. We went to the local geothermal hotspring that night to soak it out. As a girl said "A volcano you can climb with a natural hotspring a few km away, that's just good planning." The hotspring was lovely, unfortunately, it didn't save me from the extreme pain of sore legs the next day. I pretty much just hobbled around like an old lady, but every time I looked up at the mountain in the distance, I could think "yeah, volcano, you may have kicked my ass, but I kicked yours."
Saturday, April 4, 2009
My Kiwi Experience Part 3 : Royally Good Time
After a delightful time in Christchurch, I headed back on the bus to get down to Queenstown, otherwise known as the extreme sports capital of New Zealand. What I was unprepared for was the exquisite beauty of the place. This small, pretty touristy town is nestled between jagged mountain peaks that reflect in the deep clear lake. It's like Swiss Chalet type heaven, and with the leaves beginning to turn it was just perfect. The nightlife in Queenstown is also just my speed. Show up wearing a fleece and jeans, have a few beers, then dance the night away if you feel so inclined. Filled with like minded travellers, who share an equal enthusiasm for hiking and climbing, travel, and having a good time. I met plenty of good ones that passed the time easily.
Of course, the first night I was there, I ran into 2 friends I had made in Australia, because they all end up here. It's just a matter of time. Its as if Australia is tipped into a New Zealand funnel and the bottom of that funnel is Queesntown. And it's small enough that you will run into them. So, ran into a friend from my Cairns dive boat. After a few beers he somehow talks me into doing a Canyon Swing with him. Here is the basic idea, it's like a bungee, but there is no elastic, instead of slowing down and bouncing back, you speed up into a pendulum swing, getting up to speeds of 150km. And, unlike a bungee, which hooks onto your feet, you have a bunch of options of how to be linked up and how you want to jump. So, being the tough kid I am, I want the scariest! Well, one of the scariest ones is to fall backwards off the platform. And yeah, let me tell you, it's pretty scary. As I got geared up, my knees started shaking, I stopped making sense, just babbling. When the instructors leaned me out for my photo op, I clung madly to his wrist, digging my nails in pretty ferociously. Then, without thinking, I (or they) let go, and I was falling 109 meters, taller than the Statue of Liberty. There was no breath to scream, but believe me, panic was the only relevant emotion. Then, suddenly, I was moving sideways in an arc. I couldn't stop laughing. It turned so quickly into such a fun, beautiful swing. I was walking on air.
Maybe in an attempt to redeem myself, but mostly to get my moneys worth, I did a second jump. This time I was suspended upside down and face first into the canyon. "Okay, you ready?" "Ummm... yeah?" "okay we'll give you a count down. Five. Four." And I was gone, barreling face first towards the ground. Those bastards, you gotta love them for it. It was amazing, the biggest rush, and really really fun. But, man, I was ready to hit the hot tub and relax after a heart pounding day.
The next day I went hiking around Queenstown Hill, and indulged in shopping, waiting for my Milford Sound trip. After scant hours of sleep (thanks to the nightlife) I got on a bus and headed to one of the most beautiful places in the world: mountains carved by glaciers and mossy forests and glassy lakes. The Cruise around the sound was spectacular. Amazing steep cliff faces dotted with water falls. I would have loved to have kayaked it, gotten close and personal with the wildlife (seals and penguins!), but after fallen head over heels for Queenstown, I know I am coming back. Maybe then I can afford the helicopter trip to the glaciers, to soar among these cliffs would be truly unforgettable.
Sadly, I had to leave, it was truly just the tiniest taste of New Zealand, but it left me with such a great taste, I'm coming back for seconds, hopefully a much bigger serving. My good feelings about New Zealand continued even on the plane ride to Santiago, since I was bumped up to business class and dined and slept in the lap of luxury. Sort of like a parting gift. The kind that makes you not want to part. Now, I am in Santiago, praying that I will make the adjustment. It's going to be a lot harder to travel here, especially after New Zealand made me so soft. But hey, it's a tough life, but someones got to do it.
Of course, the first night I was there, I ran into 2 friends I had made in Australia, because they all end up here. It's just a matter of time. Its as if Australia is tipped into a New Zealand funnel and the bottom of that funnel is Queesntown. And it's small enough that you will run into them. So, ran into a friend from my Cairns dive boat. After a few beers he somehow talks me into doing a Canyon Swing with him. Here is the basic idea, it's like a bungee, but there is no elastic, instead of slowing down and bouncing back, you speed up into a pendulum swing, getting up to speeds of 150km. And, unlike a bungee, which hooks onto your feet, you have a bunch of options of how to be linked up and how you want to jump. So, being the tough kid I am, I want the scariest! Well, one of the scariest ones is to fall backwards off the platform. And yeah, let me tell you, it's pretty scary. As I got geared up, my knees started shaking, I stopped making sense, just babbling. When the instructors leaned me out for my photo op, I clung madly to his wrist, digging my nails in pretty ferociously. Then, without thinking, I (or they) let go, and I was falling 109 meters, taller than the Statue of Liberty. There was no breath to scream, but believe me, panic was the only relevant emotion. Then, suddenly, I was moving sideways in an arc. I couldn't stop laughing. It turned so quickly into such a fun, beautiful swing. I was walking on air.
Maybe in an attempt to redeem myself, but mostly to get my moneys worth, I did a second jump. This time I was suspended upside down and face first into the canyon. "Okay, you ready?" "Ummm... yeah?" "okay we'll give you a count down. Five. Four." And I was gone, barreling face first towards the ground. Those bastards, you gotta love them for it. It was amazing, the biggest rush, and really really fun. But, man, I was ready to hit the hot tub and relax after a heart pounding day.
The next day I went hiking around Queenstown Hill, and indulged in shopping, waiting for my Milford Sound trip. After scant hours of sleep (thanks to the nightlife) I got on a bus and headed to one of the most beautiful places in the world: mountains carved by glaciers and mossy forests and glassy lakes. The Cruise around the sound was spectacular. Amazing steep cliff faces dotted with water falls. I would have loved to have kayaked it, gotten close and personal with the wildlife (seals and penguins!), but after fallen head over heels for Queenstown, I know I am coming back. Maybe then I can afford the helicopter trip to the glaciers, to soar among these cliffs would be truly unforgettable.
Sadly, I had to leave, it was truly just the tiniest taste of New Zealand, but it left me with such a great taste, I'm coming back for seconds, hopefully a much bigger serving. My good feelings about New Zealand continued even on the plane ride to Santiago, since I was bumped up to business class and dined and slept in the lap of luxury. Sort of like a parting gift. The kind that makes you not want to part. Now, I am in Santiago, praying that I will make the adjustment. It's going to be a lot harder to travel here, especially after New Zealand made me so soft. But hey, it's a tough life, but someones got to do it.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
My Kiwi Experience Part 2:a smelly town, a churchy town, and marine magic
After my all my Taupo sky diving excitement, I made my way to a smelly little town called Rotorua- smelly due to the sulfur dioxide, byproduct of all the geothermal activity. I didn't really mind, plus it makes a perfect cover story for farts. You see, comedy aside, Rotorua sits on top of some of the thinnest crust in the world, and so geysers and thermal pools and mud pits are extremely common. This made it a really important place to the Maori people, and so now, it is also one of the major places to have a maori "cultural experience", which is basically busing in loads of tourists, watching a show of traditional dancing, singing and the haka (war cry dance thing), and then a huge buffet, or hangi, which is supposedly cooked traditionally, which I'm sure it was, but I doubt they ate much chocolate cake and cornbread stuffing back in the day. They also took groups to see the glow worms that populated the forest, and to their sacred spring, which was in fact, very lovely. I had a nice time.
The next day I was off to a thermal park, with more of the same maori stuff, but now with boiling pools! and steam! and mud! Yeah, it was exciting. I hopped a flight to Christchurch, and met up with parental friends, Frank and Belle, who were to put me up (or put up with me) for the next few days. They stuffed me full of home cooked home grown meals and took me walking about Christchurch, which is, I must say, a really nice city. It is up there with Luang Prabang for my most favorite. There was something that I wanted to do, so I slipped away yesterday to go to Akaroa and swim with the Hector's Dolphin, the smallest (and therefore cutest!) and rarest marine dolphins in the world.
The day was crisp, and so, of course, the water was freezing. After 'gracefully' donning my wetsuit and hopping in a small boat, the captain gave us instructions: "Keep your self upright by doing a cycle kick, and put your snorkel under water and make all sort of sounds. The dolphins want to be entertained." WEll, I guess any excuse for me to act like an idiot, so here I was was, in 40 degree ocean water, cycle kicking, making barnyard sounds into my downturned snorkel, spinning around to catch sight of an fins breaking the surface. Just as I started to suspect that they simply enjoyed watching us act stupid, there they were, a big pod, swimming all around us, checking us out, presumably enjoying our snorkel concert. Four came up to me, swam around me twice, and man, that was a really special feeling. I grinned the whole bus ride back.
The next day I was off to a thermal park, with more of the same maori stuff, but now with boiling pools! and steam! and mud! Yeah, it was exciting. I hopped a flight to Christchurch, and met up with parental friends, Frank and Belle, who were to put me up (or put up with me) for the next few days. They stuffed me full of home cooked home grown meals and took me walking about Christchurch, which is, I must say, a really nice city. It is up there with Luang Prabang for my most favorite. There was something that I wanted to do, so I slipped away yesterday to go to Akaroa and swim with the Hector's Dolphin, the smallest (and therefore cutest!) and rarest marine dolphins in the world.
The day was crisp, and so, of course, the water was freezing. After 'gracefully' donning my wetsuit and hopping in a small boat, the captain gave us instructions: "Keep your self upright by doing a cycle kick, and put your snorkel under water and make all sort of sounds. The dolphins want to be entertained." WEll, I guess any excuse for me to act like an idiot, so here I was was, in 40 degree ocean water, cycle kicking, making barnyard sounds into my downturned snorkel, spinning around to catch sight of an fins breaking the surface. Just as I started to suspect that they simply enjoyed watching us act stupid, there they were, a big pod, swimming all around us, checking us out, presumably enjoying our snorkel concert. Four came up to me, swam around me twice, and man, that was a really special feeling. I grinned the whole bus ride back.
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