Ian's Overland Adventure

Ships Ahoy

2010-09-26T12:58:00.003-05:00

My time ran out in South America and her lovely sister to the north was calling, but what does one do when a land crossing between Colombia and Panama is virtually impossible and catching a flight is so 20th century? Well, the answer is to reach back a few centuries and use the transport medium that Columbus had used to cross the Atlantic…wind and sail.

It turns out that there are actually quite a few sailboats ferrying backpackers between the two countries and the trip has become a highlight for many a vagabond. The catch is that it costs US$400 and one has to research the boats carefully because some are un-seaworthy and others are captained by drunks or coke addicts or just plain mean people.

So, I made my way to Cartagena and started researching boats. After meeting a few captains and seeing the boats I came across Bob and his catamaran, Viva. Bob is an American who’s been cruising the azul waters of the Caribbean for ten years. After putting in for repairs in Cartagena and running up some debt he decided to run the backpacker gauntlet for a stint to make some money. We were his fist customers.

We (being a group of six lads whom I knew from my trek to the Cuidad Perdida) decided to go with Bob because he seemed like a decent sort…actually he’s a fun loving guy with a great sense of humor, and his boat is a spacious and beautiful one. Plus the price was right and it came with our own chef, Arnold, a wiry Colombian who never stops smiling.

We stocked up on supplies (read beer and rum) and set sail. After a thirty-five hour crossing of the open sea, during which a massive pod of dolphins swam with the boat for an hour and showed us all kinds of acrobatics, we reached the San Blas, set anchor and jumped in the crystal clear water. The thing that makes the trip a memorable one is, basically, the three days that one spends in the idyllic San Blas archipelago. Think Robinson Crusoe meets Pirates of the Caribbean. More or less, the San Blas is a series of 350 small islands mostly covered in sand and palm trees and surrounded by reefs. It even comes with its own indigenous people, the Kunas, who are one of the most organized and autonomous native groups in Central America.

We're not alcoholics......I swear

So we sucked it up and spent three days swimming, snorkeling, fishing, having bonfires on deserted beaches, pickling our livers and playing cards. Overall it was a great trip with a great captain, a great boat, wonderful food (even the lobsters that we bought from the Kuna’s which turned out to be glorified shrimp – never trust a guy whose named Celery) and splendid weather.

Now Panama….who knows what will happen next…

Finding What Was Lost...Kinda

2010-09-12T09:48:00.003-05:00

Sweating in your sleep, waking up at dawn, walking all day in tropical heat, loosing a pint of blood per hour to the mosquitoes and sand flies, fighting through foot deep mud, avoiding the torrential downpours every afternoon, fighting strong currents as you ford a chest-deep river, passing heavily armed dudes there to ‘protect’ you from dangerous guerillas and narco-traffickers…why would anyone do these things? The answer is of course to put a bit of Indiana Jones style adventure in your mundane life. Ok, my life isn’t so mundane at the moment, but I am a big fan of types of adventure that form some sort of resemblance to self-flagellation.

I am, in the above paragraph, of course referring to the five day trek to the Cuidad Perdida (Lost City). The most famous archaeological ruins of the Tayrona people is located deep in the Sierra Nevadas de Santa Marta, a rugged tropical mountain range that falls into the Caribbean sea and hosts the two largest peaks in Colombia (5775 meters). Overall, the trek isn’t all that difficult, but one does have to conduct a fierce battle with the heat and mosquitoes and one is forced to confront the fact that not so long ago this region of the Sierra Nevadas was home to FARC as well as resembling a huge garden of either coca plants or marijuana, depending on the decade in question.

Of course the city isn’t ‘lost’ anymore…our group rediscovered it. Actually, it was found by grave robbers (there were many gold artifacts in burials) in the 70’s and is now controlled by the government but still hard as hell to get to unless you have a helicopter.

After getting my adventure and archaeological fix I’ve realized that it is time to high tail it out of Colombia…reckon I’ve overstayed my welcome. Also, I find myself traveling alone once again, comfort in solitude. So, since the border region between Panama and Colombia is one of the most dangerous places on Earth (Darien Gap: dense tropical mountains, no roads, very dangerous snakes/frogs, lots of Malaria, Guerillas with a bad attitude…etc) and a land crossing is virtually impossible I will instead go back to Cartagena and catch a sail boat to Panama via the idyllic San Blas Islands.

Now the question is only to find the right boat…i.e. find a captain that is not gonna blow the food budget on coke or booze and a boat that is hopefully seaworthy.

At Land's End

2010-08-17T20:11:00.003-05:00

It’s been a busy week here in Colombia: a new president was sworn in, a war with Venezuela was avoided (for the moment), a car bomb exploded in the capital, a prominent politician was either executed or kidnapped in Medellin, a major airline was struck by lightning and broke into three pieces but managed to save all but one of the 121 passengers, and yours truly arrived at the Caribbean sea after ten months of snaking my way up the South American continent from Ushuaia.

THE CARIBBEAN!

I wasn’t sure what it would feel like to cover a continent from one end to the other, but now I am quite positive that it feels hot; it is a heat that is both sweaty and sticky, like a sugary popsicle melted over the counter-top. I could be sweating from the emotions of finally making it to the Caribbean, but I reckon it is just the damn weather here in Cartagena. There is no respite, twenty four hours a day of sweat….but you, kind reader, will take solace in the knowledge that I am replacing my liquids (although, I am not all that sure that ice cold Club Colombia is very hydrating).

Cartagena lives up to its reputation as a beautiful city. In many ways it is reminiscent of Havana or Santo Domingo because of the similarity in the architecture, especially the massive stone walls and fortresses constructed by the Spanish to ward off those nagging pirates, such as Francis Drake.

A typical street view in Cartagena

Aside from the inferno that they call ‘weather’ here and the architecture, there is also a similarity in the people here with the rest of the Caribbean…that being that the people here more resemble other locales in El Caribe rather than Bogotá or Medellin. MaraLuz assures me that the accents here also resemble other Caribbean Spanish accents rather than other Colombian accents…I’m taking her word on that.

Overall, Cartagena is a city of leisure…if for no other reason than that it is too hot to do anything. It encourages sidewalk cafes and a midday beer or two and boasts a varied, though expensive, cuisine. Moreover, it is said that there are some wicked beautiful islands around here to visit…but I got my eyes set on the Totumo mud volcano. What can beat a refreshing dip in a live volcano bubbling with silky mud…who needs to spend money in a day spa when you have detoxifying mud? Paradise in the form of mud!

Flower Power

2010-08-10T14:08:00.003-05:00

Who would have thought that flowers could be so much fun! Upon arriving in Medellin a week ago, armed with the knowledge that we would be placing ourselves at the mercy of a city in the midst of its largest annual festival, I was wary of if a flower festival was worth the agony and hassle of the impossible task of finding accommodation during the weekend.

Turns out that ‘flowers’ are really just a cover and excuse to have a week long party. The city of Medellin really goes out of its way for their showcase festival: nightly free concerts in a variety of venues, amazing expositions of orchids and other flowers, a huge parade where farmers come into the city carrying an obscene quantity of flowers on their back, thousands of people looking for a good time each night and numerous other events.

Here is one poor soul with many kilos of plant reproductive power on his back

Besides me having got robbed once, Maraluz (my Peruvian traveling partner) and I have so far really enjoyed Medellin and the Flower Festival. We passed a great night out in the Zona Rosa were we encountered a group of wealthy dentists (possibly also drug lords) from Bogotá – one of the dentists decided to show off his wealth by buying a $50 bottle of rum, holding it up and tipping it upside down so that everyone could fill their cups. I reckon he went through seven or eight bottles like that while the rest of us drank merrily and danced to the local street Vallañato music. Hell, there was so much free booze going around, half of it ended up either on the ground or being thrown into the air. Such alcohol abuse!

Also of note was our outing to the parade on the last day of the fair. We went with a Kiwi that I had met previously in Cuzco, a guy with a very unusual but strong sense of humor. While in Chile he had hand made a ‘party suit’ out of lycra, or some other skin tight material, and decided that this was a perfect opportunity to sport it. So, while we two ‘square’ persons walked around a very crowded street waiting for the parade, Kiwi Scott entertained the locals in his costume while employing movements reminiscent of Jonny Depp’s character in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas while on a combination of LSD, coke, and a number of other uppers and downers. It was truly a priceless moment just to watch the locals…they didn’t know what to make of Scott: is he on drugs, is he insane, does he want money??? Some people just stared, children were terrified, others wanted photos, but the majority simply smiled with glee at the sight of what appeared to be a truly insane person who enjoys entertaining.

Kiwi Scott in his element

Now that the Flower Festival is over, we have a chance to enjoy the City of Eternal Spring as it resumes a bit of its tranquility. Not sure what exactly the day with bring, perhaps a bit of reading in the sun, a stroll downtown to have a coffee with friends, and certainly a beer or two on a terrace – this kind of stressful life is what is making me go prematurely gray.

I have also decided to officially submit my status as towards Colombia as ‘unimpeachable and undying love’.

Parents and Administration

2010-07-26T11:32:00.001-05:00

Colombia is an enigmatic country; it finds itself on the cusp of newly acquired affluence, a growing middle class, increased security and yet struggles with a violent reputation around the world, a reduced but continuing and ever present guerilla insurgency, and interregional conflicts with neighbors - then there is the drug trade which is like a parasitic tumor on Colombian society. All this, along with amazing natural beauty and diversity and an almost-too-nice populace combines to make Colombia a place unequalled (for better or worse) in South America.

Fortunately, I was able to share a small part of the enigma with my parents. Unfortunately, with the time limits and distances between places of interest we didn’t make it that far a field. Still, after Bogotá we found ourselves in Villa de Leyva – a classic colonial town – and happened to arrive in the middle of a large local week-long festival followed by the 200th anniversary of Colombian independence. Both turned out to be semi-bizarre celebrations. Probably the highlight for me was fossicking in the arid regions around town and scoring a handful of ammonite fossils. We ended our little family reunion with a visit to a massive Catholic cathedral carved out of a gigantic salt mine – bloody thing even included all the Stations of the Cross.

In Villa de Leyva with a Colombian couple we met

So, here I am ensconced in this enigmatic country…and I have to say that I am fully enjoying it at the moment. Still abiding in Bogotá, I have begun a somewhat administrative period of my travels. I’m in the process of half-heartingly applying for English language teaching jobs (I wouldn’t mind staying here to work, but not sure I want to commit to a year…plus I’m inherently lazy) while also (more seriously) putting some applications together for jobs in the States. When all is said and done I guess I’m not crazy about living in Bogotá, so I reckon I’ll find myself on a bus to Medellin sometime this week, hopefully traveling with a Peruvian girl that I met here in Bogotá. Maybe the city of ‘eternal spring’ will show me another side to this enigma.

Colombianismo

2010-07-06T19:54:00.004-05:00

After possibly crossing my last border here in South America I now find myself in Colombia…land of guerillas, cocaine, salsa and plastic surgery (also a lot more, I'm just trying to catch your attention. Did it work?). In fact, Cali – where I am right now – is not only the salsa capital of SA (and possibly the world) but also renowned as hosting the populace whom goes under the knife most often…incredibly even more than LA. Unbelievable. Actually, it was believable after walking around the mall today and having to duck and weave to avoid all the fake boobs poking out of the blouses!

I passed through Ecuador relatively quickly, partly from time worries, but also because I just didn’t posses the gumption to go vagabond style. I did however spend a wonderful week in Quito with my exchange brother Andy. After not seeing Andy for 12 or 13 years it was slightly surreal to hang out with him…especially because all my memories of him are from a fourteen year-old’s perspective. Now, as adults, our interactions were slightly different and much more enjoyable. Also great was meeting his lovely new wife, staying with his parents in luxurious comfort (it was a true break from the road), and while waiting to see Andy’s band catching a police chase & capture involving both gunshots and pepper spray…it was a choice night.

So…Colombia, huh. Not far to go now to the Caribbean….one endless road trip from the meeting of the stormy Atlantic and Pacific oceans, north, all the way to the calm Caribbean sea. Still, I have to make one last push to get there and in the mean time there is heaps to see and parents to meet (hopefully they make it this time). So, after a spot of salsa here in Cali it’s off to the Zona Cafeteria to soak in some aromatic java and then to Bogotá to meet the parents and, because the people are so damn nice here in Colombia, possibly look for a job teaching English.

Invalid Accounts

2010-06-24T16:54:00.003-05:00

Dear blog. I´m sure you´ve been on the edge of your seat waiting to hear of exciting Ecuadorian exploits....well, the wait will have to continue. I did spend a great four days on a farm in Vilcabamba with some fascinating people who are trying to change the world...but the more recent truth is that I have been basically out of action for the past week with serious back and neck pain culminating in excrutiating migranes. I´m not even sure how it came about in full...all I know is that I am sick and bloody tired of being an invalid. At least there are football matches to pass the time.

So, I´m heading to Quito tomorrow to visit with my ´long lost Ecuadorian brother´ Andrés, who I haven´t seen in twelve years or so...and possibly a visit to the hospital. Yipee and boo hoo.

The Marathon Border

2010-06-11T10:31:00.004-05:00

There is nothing fast about traversing the border between Peru and Ecuador in the remote outpost of La Balsa. However, it did prove interesting and, although long, a beautiful journey.

I left from Chachapoyas, Peru – the capital of the Amazonas province in northern Peru. Actually, Chachapoyas proved to be one of my most favorite places in Peru. Almost no-one goes to Chacha, probably because it is so far from all the gringo highlights in southern Peru…but Chacha mystifies the inquisitive traveler with literally hundreds of jaw-dropping things to do and see. I also happened to show up in town on the eve of the biggest festival that the town hosts…always a good omen.

After a few days in Chacha, with a visit to Kuelap – an archaeological ruin only slightly less amazing than Machu Picchu (but with no tourists…we had the entire place to ourselves), and a hike to the Gotca waterfall – the third highest in the world, I decided to trade in Peru for Ecuador.

Dawn at Kuelap (on top of hill to right)

Instead of taking the most traveled crossing, on the coast, or the second crossing with a good road and high traffic, I choose a much more remote border crossing with shitty roads and next to no traffic. In fact, it turned out to be a bit of an epic adventure just to get from Chachapoyas, Peru to Vilcabamba, Ecuador. Here’s a synopsis:

Number of days: 2
Hours inside a vehicle: 17
Kilometers traveled: 312
Vehicles: 4 collectivos (shared car taxis: think as many people jammed in the car as possible), 3 moto-taxis, 1 open-bed truck, 1 bus, 1 pedestrian bridge
Armed checkpoints: 3 official, 1 unofficial
Dead animals: one dead chicken….reckless driving is a killer
Coconuts shared with border official: 2
Near death experiences: uncountable

Explanation: lots of different vehicles taken over multiple days…needless to say it was uncomfortable. I also encountered, aside from the normal police/army checkpoints, two blokes stopping cars at a makeshift speed bump in the middle of nowhere in Peru. One had a shotgun and the other a rifle with a scope (I suppose in case anyone decided to run)…they definitely did not belong to the government, but they were asking for donations of monetary value. It’s remarkably easy to give money to guys with guns. Also, in one of the vehicles we managed to tenderize a chicken for someone’s dinner…not surprising considering the speed the driver took the very narrow dirt road with very steep cliffs sprouting up around each corner accompanied by a semi operated by a suicidal driver coming from the opposite direction. To top it off, after walking across the bridge to Ecuador (and having to knock house to house to find the immigration officer – on both sides of the border) I helped the immigration officer crack open some coconuts so we could reap the benefits of the juice. It was a pretty laid back border.

All in all, in anyone finds themselves traveling and encountering tedium at the easiness of transportation, or boredom for that matter, than I suggest trying the border crossing less traveled. It will put a skip back in your step…or, at the hands of your eighteen year old chauffer, you’ll drive fifty km/h too fast through a dangerous curve in the pothole ridden gravel road and end up in a tumbling ball of metal and flesh bouncing three hundred meters to you death, ending your journey in the pristine river flowing through the bottom of the valley – either way you’ll be at peace at the end of the journey.

Now, (finally) in Vilcabamba (a town that boasts extreme longevity in its population) I have encountered a tough decision…go and work for some days on a farm owned by really fascinating people who are ‘planting a seed crystal for a new civilization’ or find somewhere to watch the world cup with hundreds of fanatical Ecuadorians. Damn, I’m no good at these choices.

Hiking in Huaraz

2010-06-03T12:12:00.004-05:00

To travel in a country with as much diversity as Peru is truly wonderful…the diversity I am referring to in this case is geographical. It’s amazing to be so close to the equator yet wake up in the morning with glaciers in every direction and ice on your tent.

I am writing from Huaraz, Peru in the Cordillera Blanca…the largest mountain range outside the Himalayas and the largest tropical range in the world. There are over 22 summits breaching the 6000 meter barrier (that’s 20,000 ft for you imperialists) and countless more over 5000. In fact, this place hosts the world’s largest supply of tropical glaciers and some of Peru’s best Andean vistas.

To take advantage of this natural adventure land I went on a four day trek through the cordillera, huffing and puffing and swearing to every deity I know to make it up to the pass at 4750 m and dreaming of fires as I shivered in my tent at only slightly lower elevations. The pain was well worth it, though, and the trek proved to be one of the best I’ve done here in South America.

On my second night I camped with some French trekkers at a cold 4250 meter campsite. In the morning, just as I was soaking in the first aromas of my coffee, I was alerted to a cow prowling around my tent. As I ran over to scare it off it ran away with something in its mouth. A chase ensued…although a short one – the cow had a lot more breath at that altitude than I did. Five minutes later I lay there panting and swearing at the cow and she just stared at me while eating my favorite t-shirt…completely eating it. The French couple obviously found the whole episode to be hilarious.

All in all it was a great trek in a most beautiful area…and to top it off, I finished the trek last night with one of the most popular street snacks here…a kebab of cow heart – I just wish it was from the cow who ate my shirt.

2010-05-03T20:56:00.013-05:00

Who said vacations are relaxing? The second installment of my May visitors to Peru has just finished and with my sister has gone all my energy.

Two ten day vacationers back to back, both going to Cuzco, Machupicchu and Lima leaves no rest for the wicked, nor the host/guide/translator.

I can’t complain though…spending ten days with my little sister here in Peru, especially after not seeing her for almost two years, was absolutely great. She arrived here in Lima and we motored out on a 24 hour bus trip to Cuzco where we spent a day adjusting to the altitude and seeing the city a bit.

We decided to go to Machupicchu the cheap way…basically by avoiding the monopolistically expensive PeruRail train. We had planned to head to Aguas Calientes the ‘back way’ to MP, through Santa Maria and Santa Teresa…but a strike by local workers in Santa Maria blocked our plans. So we went the only other way possible…by taking a local bus as far in the Sacred Valley as we could, to Piscacucho, and then walking the train tracks down through the valley all the thirty kilometers to Aguas Calientes.

The walk started off pleasant enough…it was a nice day with nice things to look at, but for ten km we only had the rough rocks of the tracks to walk on. Later, a dirt trail followed the tracks, but by then our feet, not to mention our bodies, were done in and we moped, crawled and sold our souls to the Devil for the last ten km only to arrive after dark and have to get up before four a.m. in order to see the sunrise in Machupicchu. Such tough work traveling is, as Carlie found out…but she motored on like a champion. In fact, we didn’t arrive back in Cuzco until 12:30 a.m. the next morning in a marathon day of ruins, walking, crossing a river in a cable car motored by hand, and an eight hour car ride.

We left Cuzco the next day in order to see some other parts of Peru before Carlie had to fly back. We bussed it to Nazca, crawled up a paltry tower to see some oblique views of the Nazca Lines and then we drifted through the desert to Pisco where we had our first quality sleep in what seemed like an eternity. Pisco happens to be the jumping off point for the ‘poor man’s Galapagos’…Las Islas Ballestas - islands made famous by shit, bird shit to be exact.

In some places the guano is, or used to be 50 meters thick. Now, these shitty islands are visited by tourists because of the amazing seabird life and marine life. It was pretty amazing…birds in amazing numbers, lots of bird shit, beautiful islands dotted with natural arches with waves crashing into them and sea lions popping their heads out of the water in curiosity at the passing boat.

We then shot back up to Lima for one last day in the city whereupon we met some great people in the hostel. In fact, our roommate, who just recently found out she is pregnant, claims to have a shamanic penis growing inside her stomach, of which she is very happy and slightly disconcerted (about the penis part). She is also convinced that my beard is big enough that it may in fact be host to a slightly insane, coke addicted alcoholic woman who is an acquaintance of ours…ala Peter Griffin from Family Guy (see episode with bird in beard).

Agents of Feeling

2010-05-03T20:56:00.010-05:00

During the past ten days I have digressed from my normal traveling mode. In fact, going into the past fortnight, I was slightly weary of what I was going to be doing, if for no other reason than because of money. Thankfully hindsight sees no regrets on my part. The reason behind this digression was the visit of a good friend of mine from Chicago.

Ben and I have known each other since university and I was very much looking forward to seeing a friendly face – someone with whom I have a history with and not just a fleeting, anonymous week that ends with an exchange of emails and the very slightest possibility of a future face to face meeting.

Due to the extremely dictatorial, rigid, and inherently selfish vacation allowances that US companies give, Ben only had ten days to soak in the flavors of Peru. Like most people who are given a hard choice, he consolidated his options and chose to spend his time with the hardest-hitting and most rewarding things in Peru…namely a five day trek to Machupicchu and me, of course.

After two days exploring Cuzco and acclimatizing to the altitude we struck out on a five day, 60 km trek over and around Salkantay Mountain…the second highest in the Cuzco region (6275 meters). We spent a bit of money and went on an organized tour and lucked out in a big way. Not only did we have a great group to hike with, but the guides, organization and, especially, the food were great. Nothing beats sitting outside, being overlooked by a six thousand meter, glacier-clad, mountain and being served an absolutely delicious gourmet meal.

We walked for four days, reaching a top elevation of 4650 meters, camping each night, and passing through uncountable climatic and vegetative zones. Our second day was, possibly, the most amazing. After waking up in our tents at 4100m (15255 feet), we climbed, huffing and puffing, to the pass which was cold and windy and little or no vegetation. We had a mostly sunny lunch a little lower and watched the clouds float in from the Amazon basin only to hit the mountains in front of us and dissipate into the thin air (excuse the pun). Then, from the high altiplano-like zone we were in, we descended into the clouds and watched as slowly shrubs, bushes and small trees started to appear. Eventually we found ourselves in the high jungle and were completely surrounded by a cornucopia of flowers….every color that you could imagine. We camped that night somewhat below 3000m and wrapped ourselves in the warmth of the lower elevations.

We followed rives down toward Machupicchu for the next two days witnessing a myriad of plants, flowers, bugs and interesting characters, two of which merit mention. On our third day Ben and I took a bit of San Pedro, a cactus that grows locally and is used by shamans. It is great for walking in the bush because it gives you energy and enhances colors and other senses. It was an interesting and mostly benign experience because of the small dose that we took, but we met two people that day that provided much color to the rest of the trip, for both us and the other people in our group. The first character was part of an older group of people walking the trail (I don’t think they hit the altitude like we did). She was maybe in her fifties and as she walked by I commented that she had more paint on her face that the Mona Lisa, which was true but not the whole truth. As we discovered upon later sightings of her, she couldn’t move the upper half of her face due to God knows how much Botox and face-lifts. It was actually scary to see her…the bottom half of her face was smiling, the top half (was covered in makeup) didn’t move or have a wrinkly on it. Who blow-dries their hair on a jungle trail? We saw Mona many times after that and it got scarier every time. Unfortunately we failed to get a picture of her.

The second notable hiker we met that day was a young man from San Francisco. He walked with us for a while and told us he was going to see all Peru in five weeks. He thought that was pretty bad-ass and thus asked a member of our group, Tim, how long he is in Peru (thinking it would be only a week or two). Tim, an American PhD candidate lives in Peru, in Cotahuasi! The young guy, slightly humbled, asks Tim was he does…Tim replies that he is an anthropologist and then asks the same question back. The guy says, “me?, I’m an Agent of Feeling here in Peru”. Not sure what to make of that, Tim asks what he does back in the States? “There?, I’m an Agent of Feeling there as well.” We ran into the Agent of Feeling, as he became know, later while watching a caterpillar emerge from his cocoon and the Agent only let us watch if would ‘send it our love’. It certainly takes all types….

We finished the trek, our fifth day, at the ruins of Machupicchu. It is very touristy and expensive but for reason….not only is it an amazing archaeological site both in its grandeur and preservation, but is situated on top of a steep mountain in a most dramatic setting and surrounded by jagged, jungle-clad mountains and deep-cut river valleys. What amazing engineers the Incans were! We were blessed with both Mona Lisa and the Agent of Feeling at the ruins…no day would be complete without them.

After Machupicchu Ben and I went back to Lima for two days and saw a small bit of the city before he returned to Chicago. All in all, it was a great trip….I would recommend the Salkantay trek to Machupicchu to anyone not interested in walking the over-populated Inca Trail and sharing every campsite with 500 other people every night.

Tonight I’m going to pick my little sister up from the airport here in Lima. Guess where we’re going? You got it…back to Machupicchu!

Shit Equals Salvation!

2010-05-03T20:56:00.007-05:00

A holiday to Peru...$1001 - (possibly much more)

A three day trek in the Colca Canyon…$56.45

A 2.5 liter bottle of water at the bottom of the canyon...$4

Getting lost on a ‘trail’ that is washed out, has five hundred meter shear drop offs and is marked with a skull and cross bones on the map….priceless.

The Colca Canyon is a spectacular place offering breathtaking mountains, shear cliffs, wild rivers, the Andean Condor in prolific numbers, and Quechua speaking peoples farming terraces that have existed since pre-Incan times. I traveled there with a Spanish couple and we met an interesting young American couple with whom we set off together on a three day trek to conquer the wilds of the world’s second deepest canyon (the deepest being a stones throw north and a whopping 163 meters more profound).

We had a pleasant descent to the bottom of the canyon and soothed our sore feet the first night in natural thermal baths and eased our trembling stomachs into some fresh-caught river trout.

On the second day we found ourselves at the level of the river and on a trail that climbed over five hundred meters, only to fall back down to the level of the river again where there was an oasis we had set our hopes upon. After a fierce climb (from about 2000 m to 2500 m) and no sight of respite from the mounting elevation we found a small trail that seemed to skirt the side of the mountain…a shortcut.

The shortcut tuned out to be an old mule train, about a foot wide, and that, with the rain of the past few days, had washed out in places and left one with many leaps of faith while facing quite a few hundred meters of tumbling down the side of the mountain, littered with cactus (and nothing else to hold onto) and into the boiling river. Fun times. So fun in fact that one of the women fell into a panic attack over one of the washouts and started hyperventilating.

The trail was also overgrown, not only with cactus, but with a plant that felt like a bunch of thumbs slapping you, and, when you broke a twig off, it spewed a sticky, milk-like substance, all over the offendng culprit.

Just as we got used to this ‘trail from Hell’ it ended, leaving us scratching our heads. There was nothing left to do but follow the ancient Vicuña (like a llama) paths that were even narrower and more haphazard.

The only images going through my head were headlines from newspapers back home, reading 'American tourist plummits 548 meters to bloody death on non-existent trail in Peru's Colca Canyon...remains could only be identified by dental work', or some such thing.

“Here’s some shit!”
“Here’s some more!!”
“Is it fresh?”
"I don't know, I haven't tasted it yet!" (At least we sarcastic bastards hadn't lost our sense or humor)

This is how the next hour or so went. Never, ever, have any of us been so happy to find, smell, analyze, and follow mule shit. That is how we ended up finding a proper trail and stumbling our sorry selves down into the oasis where a pool and cold beer waited (actually it wasn't cold, but I didn't notice....I did notice the price however, and it was steep).

The right side of the canyon hosted our 'camino de muertos'

Later, when looking back over our maps (there were numerous maps of very bad quality) did we discover that the trail that we ended up taking is marked, on one of the maps, with a skull and cross bones. Hindsight is 20/20. Thankful to survive we were given ample time to reflect on our near death experience on our 1200 vertical meter climb (with a 12 kilo pack and ever thinning air) to the rim of the canyon the next day. Talk about fun times!

All in all, the Colca was great…a beautiful place with lots of close up encounter not only with death, but with the majestic condors. Now I’m back in Arequipa, about to head to Cuzco and start a busy but much anticipated month of visitors from the great ol’ US of A.

Suvivors!...me and my Spanish companions on the rim of the canyon

Welcome to the Jungle

2010-04-20T18:51:00.007-05:00

Not many people can say they were chased by a jaguar in the Bolivian jungle and lived to tell about it! Well...neither can I, and I don´t mean that I am dead.

I reckon that the jungle has three predominant and over-excessive features...the color green, every kind of stinging,biting, and generally obnoxious insect possible, and the ability to cause the human intruders to produce unnatural amounts of sweat. The first atribute is a lovely one, the last two can be done away with...remind me to have a world with God next time He designs a world (maybe He can put in an eight day week next time to iron out some of those nasty details).

In fact, there is another variable common to most jungle environments...extremely shitty transportation. I made a giant loop through Bolivia´s Amazon Basin from Santa Cruz to Trinidad and then to Rurrenabaque. S.C. to Trini was fine and in Trini I purchased a bus ticket to Rurre, the clerk assured me I would be in Rurre before 10pm that same day. The first shock came after only half an hour into the journey when we were forced to leave the mini-van and get in a boat, something the clerk failed to mention. Second shock was that the boat took three hours, namely because the entire country is under a few meters of water and there is no road. However, it was a lovely, if hot, boat journey. The rest of the road journey was not...I´ll just mention driving no faster than 35kmh beacause of the goliath sized ruts, four kilos of pulverized dirt entering the car every sixty seconds through inconceivable orphices, and the failure to meet the promised arrival time by fifteen hours (can´t say I was too surprised, though).

The destination was definately worth it. Rurrenabaque is a lovely little village situated on the Beni river (a tributrary of the Amazon) and surrounded by pristine jungle, including the Parque National Madidi...a massive chunk of jungle with some of the highest levels of plant and animal diversity in the world. I ended up spending three days in the national park mostly sweating, swatting bugs, scatching but also doing a bit of trekking. Besides the color green, we saw lots: different types of monkeys, massive herds(?)of wild pigs that make disturbing noises and release and intersting (read ´offensive´) smell from a gland on their back, tarantulas, turtles, macawas, other parrots, giant cities of ants that cut leaves in order to grow mushrooms, other ants with pincers so big you can stich up cuts by letting the ant bite you and then decapitating it while leaving the head and pincers in your silky skin, and, we almost saw a tapir and jungle turkey (we heard them as they ran away from us but didn´t quite catch a glimpse).

The first picture is of a tree that walks...yes, it walks to find sunlight

I´ve now ventured up to the highest capital city in the world, La Paz. It is completley different than I had imagined...and I think I love it. A few more stops in Bolivia are in store for me (Tiwanaku and Lake Titicaca) and then the call of Peru will ovetake me agianst my will and I will have to leave Bolivia.

Locisimo

2010-04-11T15:22:00.004-05:00

I've come to a fantastic realization...I really like crazy people. Sounds kinda weird maybe, but a person who is missing a few marbles or has had the hamster slip off the wheel a little bit is often much more interesting to talk to, or simply watch, than a sane person. And, as R.M. Pirsig so wisely said, "When you look directly at an insane man all you see is a reflection of your own knowledge that he's insane, which is not to see him at all." So we must all look more closely!

I've just reached the Amazon Basin, or namely, Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. I've spent most of the past two weeks in little villages situated in 'the elbow of the Andes'. In Samaipata I relaxed over Easter with some artisans, i.e., we sat in the plaza and drank cachaça, a potent Brazilian spirit made from sugar cane. There was a brilliantly crazy Austrian guy at my campground that was on almost every drug known to man…who needs TV when you watch him. I also, unfortunately, witnessed some of the sadder moments of the drug culture when one of the artisans, an Argentinean, who I had been hanging out with for a few days, had a night on the white powder and then sat up from 12 am to 12 pm licking the table clean. Needless to say, it was an utterly futile attempt. I guess the one word I thought of while watching him was ‘depravity’.

So, enough depravity I told my myself as I kicked on my shoes and shuttled down the road an hour to paradise, Ginger’s Paradise. Ginger’s is a 30 hectare farm in the mountainous jungle of the extreme eastern Andes. I reckon they are about 90% self-sufficient in what they grow and have absolutely amazing food. I’ve spent the past four days harvesting peanuts and yucca, tilling soil, constructing a water wheel, weeding a patch of hallucinogenic cactuses, and making delicious breads. Nobody there was really ‘crazy’ but there were a few on the way. The father of the family that owns the farm, Chris, is incredibly knowledgeable and also on the fringes of socially acceptable thinking. Chris, in conversation with a 62 year old Vietnam vet who showed up yesterday and claimed to have spoken to God last week when he took San Pedro (a cactus) was priceless. I might take a trip to the nut house for the afternoon just to converse with some more lunatics…its great.

So, now, back in the ‘sane’ world of a big city (read ‘boring’) I have decisions to make…which way to go. But, saying that, I think I already know…I’m gonna head into the jungle, to Trinidad. Hopefully the road isn’t washed out.

Ginger from Ginger's Paradise

At Hell's Gates

2010-03-28T17:14:00.008-05:00

Well, a lot has happened in the past week or two. I’ve crossed two borders, camped on the edge of the driest desert on Earth, saw geysers at 5000 meters, crossed the largest salt flat in the world, visited one of the most dangerous mines in the word, eaten heaps of coca leaves and seen the Bolivian president in person. Piece of cake.

After a week in the glorious northwest of Argentina I left that wonderland for good and crossed into the desert oasis town of San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. San Pedro is quaint and located amongst amazing natural beauty and wonder…but is overrun with gringos. Fortunately I was able to jump on a thee day 4x4 trip into and through the SW of Bolivia and ending at the Salar de Uyuni…the largest salt flat in the world.

The entire trip was surreal, like being in Alice’s wonderland. Driving off-road at 5000 meters in a volcanic desert sprinkled with multi-colored lagoons, Vacuña’s (a wild relative of the llama), geysers, smoking mountains, pink flamingos, rocks shaped as trees, hotels made of salt, and sees of salt with cactus covered islands…all to finish in a graveyard of trains. Who could want more?

After ending the hallucinogenic escapade in Uyuni, Bolivia I traveled to Potosi, the site of the once second biggest city in the world, the current highest city in the world (4060 meters), the once richest silver mine in the world and site of over 8 million slave and miner deaths (all related to mining and silver purification). Whew, that’s a mouthful. In Potosi I experience the absolute worst environment I have ever been in…a couple of hundred meters inside a 400 year old (yet still) operating silver mine at 4350 meters. It was hot, claustrophobic (think crawling down vertical tunnels on your stomach when you can’t breath or turn around), dark and had extremely dangerous gasses and rock dust floating around…nothing to fret about, unless your one of the five thousand miners who still spend a majority of their lives inside this hellhole. It’s so bad inside that the miners worship a devil named Tio to protect them. On a bright note, we got to blow up four sticks of dynamite and I saw Evo Morales, the president of Bolivia, speak (not inside the mine)!

Here's a pic with miner-me and some dynamite...an explosive combination!

Whew, writing all that makes me feel almost as exhausted as doing it was. So, now that I am in Sucre, a beautiful colonial city at a much more manageable elevation, I think I’ll have a rest and a beer. Cheers!

Devil in the Details

2010-03-16T18:31:00.002-05:00

I hiked today into the Quebrada de Humahuaca to see the Garganta del Diablo. In fact, this is the third 'Garganta del Diablo' that I have seen here in Northern Argentina in the past ten days. It got me to thinking...

There are certainly a lot of demons here...I mean, to have three 'throats of the Devil' just in one country. And, amazingly, they all have been distinct geological phenomenon thus confirming my hypothesis that distinct demons have imparted their own unique blueprints to create these geological wonders. Given that I have, in reality, only seen a fraction the surface area of Northern Argentina, I am certain that many other Garganta del Diablo's exist. In this light, the tight embrace of Catholicism here fits here quite nicely...surely the local inhabitants are worried about the proliferation of demons and look to The Church to 'save' them. In fact, with all these demonic sign around me, I have begun to wonder if I have in fact died and entered Purgatory and these signs signify my proximity to Lucifer.

This is one Hell of a place……

2010-03-12T15:18:00.003-06:00

I find myself with little to write that seems important…so I’m gonna babble. I’ve spent the last weeks wondering through northern Argentina with little aim and little enthusiasm; I guess I’m on a bit of a ‘downer’. I suppose this happens to most people who travel for long periods of time…eventually you start to question why you travel at all. Why am I here? The simple act of traveling seems somehow hollow and ultimately selfish. There is nothing concrete about it…you go to a new place, get yourself sorted in some form of accommodation, and then walk around to see the ‘sights’. I don’t wanna see any more sights! The only thing that really gives me purpose and energy to move on is the people (and mountains), not other travelers, but the locals. So many people come to this part of the world and fail to capitalize on this aspect of travel…talking to the people, getting to know their culture, sharing their maté, and accepting their hospitality, whether it be a bed or a free ride. I feel that a large part of the reason for this seclusion of the backpacker population is a lack of available communication…they can’t speak the language and it is so, so important to speak the language down here. So, I suppose I am a bit worn out and disinterested in the ‘backpacker culture’ down here…it seems that everyone is the same only with a different face and a different accent. It’s hard to avoid, though, because when you check into a hostel you inevitably will be meeting mostly or only English speakers who want to connect with other English speakers to go out together to party. Camping is the only salvation because the campgrounds are mostly filled with South Americans. One does meet the occasional bright spark in a hostel that defies the norm, but it gets rarer and rarer.

I’ve been stewing on this for days while feeling sorry for myself and contemplating packing it all in and going home to do something ‘constructive’…but then, as sometimes happens, you arrive in a new place and meet new amazing people and WHAM, your re-charged, ready to keep going. This is what Cafayate and an amazing young Argentinean/Brazilian artisan couple has done for me…and I thank them. In fact, more than anything, just being back in the mountains is rejuvenating. I am thanking myself now for picking a traveling route that follows one of the greatest mountain ranges in the world for thousands of kilometers (pat on the back Ian). Also I have re-doubled my language learning efforts…the Spanish is definitely improving, but I won’t be giving any lectures on metaphysics anytime soon.

So onwards! Soon I will be leaving Argentina behind, briefly stopping in northern Chile and then exploring (dare I say it) the heart of darkness or more like 'the heart of highness' …Bolivia. Yippee!!

P.S. I’m including a picture of Iguazu Falls, where I was last week, because it was one of those few places that words don’t equate with…a very powerful place, aside from the little raccoon like critters that steal your lunch, bastards.

Balmy in Buenos Aires

2010-03-04T18:47:00.005-06:00

A week of waiting in the shimmering heat of Buenos Aires for the (possible) arrival of the parents has made me realize that I have lingered too long in the southland. The north calls. A change is needed and I'm hoping that Bolivia can provide it...if nothing else at least the spanish is clearer there. So, tomorrow is the day of reckoning...either the rents arrive or they don't. Regardless of the result I will be leaving this sweaty city and heading to 'La Garganta del Diablo' (the throat of the devil)...aka Iguazu Falls. After that, the road points north and each kilometer will bring me closer to the country with the 'highest everthying', or so they say.

Update: No parents...I've been orphaned in Argentina, so I continue solo...

Steak, Wine and Women

2010-02-20T15:10:00.003-06:00

From the smog of Santiago to the merry vines of Mendoza the road has carried me back to Argentina via the base of the highest mountain in the western hemisphere. All splendid and wonderful, although I have to admit I haven't dived into the adventures with an abundance of enthusiasm. I can't say what I'm looking for; Shangri La, El Dorado, the (South) American dream or the fountain of youth...but a search has certainly commenced. That search led me, yesterday, to a wine-tasting day by bike which was going swimingly until a bike tire exploded next to me causing a fairly full glass of wine to find its way into my lap. Clothes weren't made to survive travelling. So, while eating massive steaks, drinking great wine and passing uncountable beautiful women on the street is a passable way to spend the days, Mendoza can't hold me...and thus the road continues.

Animal Farm 2

2010-02-07T19:42:00.007-06:00

After travelling the roads of Patagonia without direction or purpose, without schedule or committment, nor house or hearth for months...I have had a place to live for the past three weeks that has fullfilled all of those. Not only have I slept in the same bed every night, but I´ve been part of a family, had a rigorous work schedule, caught some beautiful rainbow trout in the Andes, eaten healthy whole meals and participated in many conversations in which I have had absolutely no clue what we are talking about. All this has taken place on a farm in central Chile belonging to a friend of mine, Carlos, and it has been just what I needed after the fear and loathing and dissolusionment that many weeks on the road can bring. Moreover, I finally have found the summer...temperatures in the 30s every day and neverendng sunshine...as well as a place to improve my Spanish. But, after all that, I´m giving up the security of homelife for the road once more and shooting off to Santiago tomorrow for a bit of cosmopolitan living and some much needed shopping...farms are hard on clothes.

Animal Farm

2010-01-22T15:06:00.002-06:00

I`ve unpacked the backpack, dirtied the clothes and soiled the boots with all kinds of poop - cow, sheep, chicken, dog and probably my own. In fact i´ve given up the nomadic life for three weeks and become a farm hand.

I`m currently living and working on a friends farm 30 km east of Los Angeles, Chile. If my friend, Carlos, was interested in agro-turism he could make a mint here...this place is amazing in its beauty, functionality, serenity and probably some other words ending in -ty.

The farm is 160 hectares with cows, sheep, maize, wheat, sugar beat, walnuts, and hazelnuts, plus, for our own consumtion, a big veggy garden, chickens, ducks, turkey, geese, a fruit orchard, and heaps upon heaps of ripe blueberries and rasberries (I think I ate a kilo of raspberries yesterday..no joke). Also, we have majestic view of the Andes with snow capped volcanoes jutting out and a crisp blue pool to dip into with an afternoon drink. This is the good life.

My jobs are as diverse and various as they are numerous - there is a lot of work here - and I don`t have time to go into all the details (we don´t have internet there, so for anyone who wants fast replies from me, tough dudo) but I will say that for anyone who is doubtful, vaccinating sheep is very hard work.

Must go now and feed the dogs....

The Land Before Time

2010-01-15T18:59:00.004-06:00

There is something inherently magic in really old trees, and, for that matter, ancient forests as well. Standing underneath something that has been alive since the beginning of human beings' ability to record history - and is still alive today - makes mankind’s achievements seem a bit superfluous.

I felt compelled, no driven, to spend some time in the Alerce forests. The Alerce is an evergreen tree growing in the Andean rainforests of southern Chile and Argentina and is the second oldest living organism on the planet, after the Bristlecone Pine. I missed my opportunity to see the Alerce when in Esquel, and so I have seized the chance here, close to Puerto Montt, in the Parque Nacional Alerce Andino.

This place is really so much more than the Alerce trees though - it is a primeval forest with hummingbirds and woodpeckers in force, bees the size of a walnut (with shell) giant trees completely covered in epiphytes, and of course, multi-thousand year old Alerce trees. This is truly The Land Before Time...I don't care what Stephen Spielberg and George Lucas say (actually that movie was an anthem for me when I was six).

Moreover, the weather gods have finally smiled in my direction. I was given two cloudless and utterly beautiful days in a place that generally recieves 3.5 -4 meters of rain per year...very rare. I thank you, oh Weather God, be assured that I have sacraficed in your honor (maybe not a lamb, but definately some flies!).

On a completely less magical note, I am trading temperate rainforests for Chile's central valley's agricultural hub. I am off now to work on a farm in Los Angeles for a guy I met while on the boat last week.

Love (?) Boat

2010-01-10T09:26:00.002-06:00

Three and a half days on a boat can provide for interesting social experiments. The closed social atmosphere of a boat is a catalyst for rumors and weird behaviors.

I have just landed my rubbery legs after a sea voyage out of Patagonia on a Navimag ferry. The ferry crawled and creeped through the channels and fjords of Chilean Patagonia and found a majestic yawl during our twelve hours on the open sea (although I am sure some of the passengers would find fault with the world ‘majestic’ as they stared into the toilet with a heavy head and a turbulent tummy).

All in all, it was a good trip…we saw dolphins, whales, a seal, a glacier, a rainbow that touched both ends of our ship, and to top it off, the entire crew of the boat believed that one of the passengers, a young woman from London, was really a man. This, in fact, became the main theme of the voyage as speculation grew into hysteria. Unfortunately, the mystery will remain unsolved as no one was game enough to test out the theory.

The boat was full of Germans and Swiss, and thus, beer was on the menu. In fact, this is almost all we did; drink, talk about the supposed transvestite, try to understand the crazy old Japanese guy who danced all over the ship and took pictures of everyone while muttering nonsensical Spanglish, and, of course, every good ship voyage ends with a healthy night of Bingo to finish off the voyage. Can’t beat that, right?

So now the rides over, the horizon has stopped swaying, I've started eating real food agian and I think my body has finally passed all the alcohol through it. Maybe it's time to hike up the volcano that stands shimmering across the lake from where i am staying in Puerto Varas, Chile.

Northward Bound

2010-01-04T07:57:00.004-06:00

The road south ends in Ushuaia, and, although there are some islands further south and, of course, Antartica, I'm not rich enough to explore them...so the road south has ended for me. It's all north from here (and maybe a little east and west, here and there)! So, in a sense, it is a very exciting prospect to be making tracks toward my destination (which I guess, in the end, is the US). I've only got 7500 miles, or 12,000 km left till the US border. Piece of cake...right?

Ushuaia was a lovely city flanked by the Beagle Channel, snow capped mountians and Chilean islands. I cought up with a good friend from my wwoofing days and we celebrated New Years with some Argentine P.H.D. candidates and an Australian travel writer...partying all through the night...which isn't that hard considering there is only five hours of dark. Also, while in Ushuaia I was robbed for the first time in South America, nothing too serious just a loss of sixty bucks or so...but we'll chalk that up as a first. Let's see what the tally can get to before I leave SA. On the same day, I found out that my wwoofing host from November (refer to earlier post) has been acused by another wwoofer for sexual misconduct and gross wierdness...the wwoofer has petitioned to the organization for removal of the farm and all. Exciting, I can't wait to hear the next chapter in this.

Tomorrow I (should be) jumping on a ferry and sailing through the fjords of Chilean Patagonia and making tracks to the north where summer is more synonimous with beautiful people wearing as little as possible...or some sort of fantasy as such.

Fin del Mundo

2009-12-28T11:15:00.005-06:00

I'm here. This is it, the big Kahuna. Buy the ticket take the ride...all that jazz. Well, I bought the ticket, taken part of the ride and the rollercoaster has spat me out in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world.

But I've been spat out tired and beat-up...like butter spread over too much toast. I've spent the past two weeks jumping on buses, crossing borders, seeing the sights, and trecking in the mountians. In fact, I've done two treks, one around Mt. Fitzroy and the second in Torres Del Paine National Park. Both were amazing, but Torres del Paine is something above special...its got everything; glaciers, hanging glaciers, glacial lakes, glacial lakes with big icebergs floating around, mountians (obviously), rivers, breath-taking views, and, of course, the iconic granite, glacial sculpted cuernos del paine. I spent Christmas on the trail, and had a delicious (note sarcasm here) pasta and tomato sauce dinner. But I met some great people on the trail to spend Christmas with and we managed to celebrate late into the night....i think til about 9:30pm before we collapsed into a fatigued slumber. I also got up at 3:30 am on my last day to see dawn on the Torres, but mother nature thought better and covered me in a few inches of snow as I sat on a rock, camera poised and coffee in hand. Still, it was a stunning sunrise, even if the towers were shrouded in snow clouds.

So, now, I'm back in Argentina recuperating my sore legs and tired cranium at the last stop before Antartica. But...i'm planning my escape already. There are just too many tourists in Patagonia at this time of year, it's too expensive and, gosh dangit, i'm cold...i'm gonna head somewhere where summer actually means sun and sweat and not more than one layer of clothing. So...hopefully in one week i'll be on a ferry heading north through the fjords of Chile.

Happy Holidays to all.

is that, is that a, uh, glacier?

2009-12-21T09:03:00.003-06:00

Words just aren't ample.....

The Essentials

2009-12-17T19:21:00.003-06:00

A word of advice – if you are going to take a long bus ride down ruta 40, a gravel highway that runs down through Argentine Patagonia, take extra food and water with you. Ruta 40 is a primitive road flanking the eastern side of the Andes and runs predominately through arid steppe land and is only dotted every few hundred kilometers by villages and towns. Why, you may ask, if I only have a 13 hour bus ride, would I want to take kilos of food and liters of water? A good question…

Let us look at a hypothetical situation: A young traveler departs from a town in Patagonia for another, more southerly Patagonian town on a thirteen hour bus ride with a reputable bus company. While he is on the bus he opens his bag, takes out some food and is swollen with pride (and a bit conceited, maybe) for thinking ahead and boiling potatoes and eggs for dinner on the bus. What a grand fellow he is. After dark, with a full belly, our vagabond traveler falls asleep content. Dreams of great adventures follow. Around 2am he notices the bus has stopped and people are outside talking, taking not much notice he falls back asleep. By three the bus is still not moving, a realization dawns that something more serious than a flat tire has occurred. The bus driver confronts the passengers, ‘uh, the, uh bus is broken. We can’t fix it. We’ll have to wait until the morning when, hopefully, the bus company will send another bus to get us. It should be here by 8 am’. Ok, our traveler is annoyed, but whatever, a few hours more of sleep and then we’ll be back on our way.

Yes! a car stops. They have a satellite phone! Bus driver calls his boss…but, something is wrong. Oh, he doesn’t have the right number. Car, with the phone speeds off into the night.

By 11 o’clock he realized that the bus driver had no clue when, or if another bus would come. The sun was hot, penetratingly hot. And dry. Even drier because our conceited traveler who had a three course meal last night only brought half a liter of water and gluttonously ate all the food last night. How the high and mighty fall. Damn the sun is hot; there is not even a tree in sight. If it wasn’t for the hills one might think they were in the middle of Australia.

Consultation with the bus driver produces the knowledge that hope is centered on vague hypothetical possibilities. Hopefully the bus company at our destination will realize, when we didn’t show up at 5 am like planned, that something had happened. By 7 they might get worried, but by 8 they will have sent a rescue bus. Maybe. But there is no real procedure for this. We can only hope.

A semi stops. The driver looks at the engine, no hope for him to fix it, but he thinks he might be able to tow the bus. Fix the chains and away they go, with the passengers walking along beside the bus. They make it one-hundred meters and stop. Seems that the truck driver underestimated the weight of the bus, he says sorry and drives off. Tough luck.

Our traveler really regrets not buying that extremely expensive bottle of water at their last stop. He showed that shop owner who has the consumer power.

3pm. Finally, salvation…a rescue bus shows up. Gear and personnel are transferred…but…what’s the hold-up? One of the baggage compartments doesn’t open…another thirty minute wait. Finally on the road again…our traveler only has to wait another three hours until the destination before he can have a drink and a bite to eat.

Now let us assume that the previous story wasn’t hypothetical. In fact, if you haven’t already guessed, it happened to me. But, after the fact, it was worthwhile because now I am in El Chalten, a small village at the base of the amazingly spectacular Mt. Fitz Roy. In fact, I just returned from a four day trek through the mountains and around the glaciers, drinking their tears as they cry about global warming. Coffee never tasted better than when cooked from a glacial stream.

Tomorrow should see me hitchhiking to El Calafete…so if you happen to be on the road, give a poor vagabond a lift because this one is sick of busses!

On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again

2009-12-05T11:39:00.002-06:00

It’s been a while, and for that I apologize to all those who were hanging onto the edges of the their seats waiting for the conclusion to the ‘pick your own adventure book’ (its still not done).

I’ve left my little wwoofing ‘farm’ because I ran out of things to do and the guy who lived there got weirder and weirder as the days went on. Actually ‘weird’ isn’t even the correct word…its more like eccentric lunacy. Also, the farm had earned the nickname among us wwoofers as ‘the container’ because ideas, events and happenings in the outside world seemed to be unable to penetrate into the inner world of ‘the farm’. Even thoughts lacked the normal free reign and scope. So, an escape was needed from the container…and an escape was realized.

I left the farm with two other wwoofers and headed down to Trevellin to help renovate a hostel in exchange for room and board. Unlike the ‘farm’, there was plenty of work to do here…carpentry, construction, gardening and such. In sort, the kinda work that leaves one satisfied and hungry at days end. The hostel was run by an Isreali with anther Isreali volunteering with us (three Yankee blokes)…all very nice people. But, alas, we only lasted two days. Not because of the work or the people, but because we wanted to be in a place that forces, or at least gives us the opportunity, to speak Spanish. In short, to get something more outta the work than just room and board.

So now, Proc, my traveling companion from NY, and I are in a tiny town on the Chilean border in Santa Cruz province situated on the second largest lake in South America…Los Antiguos. This is the cherry capital of Argentina and we are somewhat hopeful of finding some sort of work, but if not, it’s at least a good place to chill out for a while and for Proc to nurse his finger that he brutalized with a jig-saw in Trevellin. We are camping in a municipal campground and found out last night that when Argentines camp on a Friday night they don’t plan to sleep much…and they like loud music booming from car speakers…and they love Asados.

If nothing works out here workwise I guess the next stop is El Chalten for a nice long, refreshing five day hike.

The little farm that could, continued...

2009-11-16T10:15:00.005-06:00

I'v almost been in El Bolson for two weeks now. I've settled into my wwoofing lifestyle. The first few days were hard, especially because we were stuck inside a tiny house by the cold rain. But the weather improved, actually, the weather became amazing and an outside lifestyle was realized.

There is no set work schedule at my farm. Because nothing is produced for commercial value we (the wwoofers) are able to pick our own projects, in fact we must use our creativity to create our own work. I'm in the midst of creating a vegetable garden, adding to a stawberry garden, creating a fountain, carving a bowl from a knot of wood I found in the mountains and trying to germinate some seeds. Also, we have daily Spanish sessions...today was on pronuciation (reading from a book called 'Conversations with God'...I have no clue what the author was saying).

I have also started on a new endeavour...reading a book in Spanish. It's a 'pick your own adventure book'. So far I've found out I'm a thirteen year old adventurer who was asked by a famous scientist to accompany her on an expedition to find the sole surviving dinosaur living in the depths of some obscure ocean. It's very exciting.

Other than what's related above, my life consists of walking in the absolutely stunning snow-capped mountians and (attempting to) playing guitar as an accompianament to another, very talented, wwoofers mandolin. We try to make beautiful music, sometimes it works and sometimes it doens't.

The little farm that could...

2009-11-05T12:09:00.004-06:00

I have arrived in El Bolson to experience the world of wwoofing (google it if unsure of meaning). El Bolson is named after a geological term/phenomenon that occurs when a glacier carves out a valley to an exaggerated extent. Thus, El Bolson is situated deep in the Patagonian Andes but is only 300 meters above the Pacific Ocean making it ideal for growing fruits and vegies. It also is a community started by hippies and retains a bohemian feel to it. The ´farm´ I am wwoofing on is more of a hobby farm. Roberto (the owner) owns 1/4 hectare and grows fruit...actually, there are some fruit trees hapazardly scattered around the property and that`s about it. Some previous wwoofers have started small veggie gardens, but not much is actually grown. The `house´is made from recycled cedar planks put together in a house-like structure with lots of gaps. It`s kinda like the tree house you always wanted to build but never got around to it...oh ya, and it´s not in a tree. Given that it is raining and about 3 degrees today it doesn´t seem like the most efficient design. But the floor is very practical...loose river stones - never needs to be cleaned. Also on the farm is a pregnant sheep (Matilda) that just stares into the window, a golden retriever (Toby) who likes to drink milk, a cat (yet to be named) that was here for three minutes before it ran away and another wwoofer from Denmark (Anders).

In the Misty Moutains...

2009-11-03T13:45:00.004-06:00

I escaped the sprawl of the city and took a charming (read: grueling) 25 hour bus ride to the edge of the Andes...to Bariloche. I have substituted a city with a seemingly southern European feel for a smaller city with a noticibly Swiss feel to it. Bariloche, located in the lake district of Argentina, hugs the coast of a massive turquoise alpine lake with back drops of snow-capped peaks. Its quite a terrible place, all there is to do is ski, hike, mountian bike, fish and suffer through a beer with some of the cheapest steak in the world. But, fear not, I did manage to escape the meloncholy of this place and rent a car with some other travellers to see the famous 'black glacier'. After an hour and a half of driving through pothole filled and flooded over dirt roads at the hands of a phsycotic Isreali who thought it was fun to drive through water at dangerous speeds on a curvy mountain road we made it to Mt. Trondodor (mount thunder)...so named because the mountian 'thunders' every so often as massive pieces of snow and ice come tumbling down the peak. That, combined with the black glacier at its base, makes for quite a nice and scenic Andean peak. Tomorrow I'm off to El Bolson to meet the 'farmer' I will be hopefully working for/with for the next month.

Tango for Idiots

2009-10-28T19:02:00.005-05:00

Well, here I am...arrived in Buenos Aires with nothing more than a swelling of the cerebral cortex from jet lag and a sever lack of sleep. I thought flying half-way around the world would feel a bit more foreign than it has so far...maybe that has to do with the very European feel to BA. If one didn´t know better one may think this was Milan or Barcelona. But, none of those places eat as much meat or can boast as universal an institution as BA can boast of its Tango. And an institution it is here...it´s everywhere and they are proud of it. Rightly so, I might add. Its exotic and sensual and absolutely tantalizing to watch...it takes restraint to resist the urge to push the guy aside, take his lovely partner in your arms and dance her to the end of love, but then you remember that you were born with two left feel and an absolute ignorance of the style and subtle elegance that this duet requires. Oh well...maybe if I try hard enough at the Tango lesson I am about to emabrark upon some of those divine traits will rub off on me. Hey, a guy has to have hope....

Pre-flight Curiosities

2009-10-22T17:41:00.006-05:00

Well, here we are - one day till I jump the puddle. I think I'm set. Lets see...I've sold everything I own (aside from what i'm bringing with me), if I haven't sold it I've given it away (the opp shops in Ballarat have hit a gold mine in me). I've made the most minimal plans possible...a plane ticket and a hostel for the first night, and some loose plans to wwoof at a farm in November. Aside from that, its really a 'fly by the seat of your pants' kind of endeavour....but that's really the only way to do it. To keep me company on the flight I've got Anna Karenin which I've been meaning to read for years and now will finally be forced to in a sadistic sixteen hour stint of sitting in a claustrophobic cylinder filled with 250 stinking people at 35000 feet. I've got my 'Learn Spanish in...' book me which I was supposed to have been consulting for the past months....whups. At least I will provide some humor (hopefully not insults) to some Argentines when I completely mix up the word order, collocations and context and try to say that 'I am a little bit warm at the moment' and instead notify them that 'I am a little bit horny at the moment'! Who knows....maybe that will be the proper thing to say to that specific person at that specific time...or maybe I'll just get slapped in the face.

Ian's Overland Adventure

2009-10-18T19:01:00.001-05:00

Hello and welcome to the blog that will surely not change your life, but is pretty damn interesting to me, if no-one else. Herein lies the deeds and accounts of a utterly normal person who banked his life savings and flew to South America with plans, grandiose plans. Actually, the plans are a bit on the skimpy side...in fact, there is really only one. Make it from Tierra Del Fuego to the US without stepping on a plane, aka, overland...and to arrive (hopefully) alive and with no money left to speak of but plenty of stories for the grandkids (no i don't have any and won't for a very long time). These stories will be made up from the many things I do on this journey, things of which I have no clue of at the present moment...so you will have to stay tuned to this blog to seek the answers you so desire.

Vamos al fin de mundo!