Ode to the Sea

I have spent the past two days in Valparaisio, a small town on the coast of Chile, just north of Santiago. I love this town, though there's not much to do here. Just wander up and down the steep hills, take in the rows of houses, each a different color, and look out at the grand Pacific Ocean.

I did go to the Pablo Neruda museum and house yesterday, which was really interesting. He only lived here for a few years at the end of his life, but what a house. He had it designed to resemble the interior of a boat, so all the rooms are small and random, full of nooks and crannies and crannies and nooks. He loved THINGS. Materials Objects. And his house is full of random objects and furniture pieces and art he picked up here and there along the way during his life.

And his views. On every floor of the house are these huge windows that look out on the city and the sea beyond. I can just imagine him sitting up there, looking out on the ocean, writing about this and that. He was full of nonsense. I appreciate nonsense.

Anyway, spent a lazy day at the beach in Viña del Mar today - just 20 minutes up the road - and am heading off to Mendoza tomorrow morning. Taking the day bus for a change because apparently there's an incredible view of the Andes when you cross over into Argnetina. Should be a relaxing day. Planning to stay in Mendoza til Saturday, when I will head back to Santiago, just in time to get on my plane to Easter Island Sunday morning. And that is that!

Here's a few pics from the last couple weeks - enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy

Facing Fears, Cutting Loose

Right after I last wrote, I marched myself out onto the streets of Santiago, found a salon on the way back to my hostel, and chopped all of my hair off! I have been sort of itching to do this for the last few months but was terrified of it, and now it is done! It looks just about like it did during my IU years, if that helps with a visual. If that doesn't help, I will try to get some pictures posted soon. Liberation! But, if chopping your hair off isn't terrifying enough, try trying to explain to your Spanish speaking hair stylist what you want. Short, but not too short! Easy on the bangs! Nothing dramatic! We got through it, thankfully, and I got, more or less, exactly what I wanted.

Then, about two hours later, me and my new head of hair and my travel buddy, Bjorn, boarded the night bus for Pucon. I sat down into my assigned seat, assessed my surroundings, and found: in front of me, a crying baby; behind me, a crying baby; across the aisle from me, a crying baby. It was only endured for maybe 45 minutes - once those rumbling engines started up and we got some rhythm of the road under us, they all shushed. But it was a little terrifying to start a 9 hour bus ride like that. Open the wine! Quick!


Tuesday was spent doing very little. Catching up on sleep from the bus ride and feeling a little under the weather from a sinus infection.

Wednesday, we rented bicycles. I had a little accident the last time I rode, I told the guy at the shop. So I am a little scared, but I need to try. Did a 50 km ride through the farmland around Pucon, and it was just lovely. Farm after farm after farm. Cows, sheep, pigs, roosters, horses - roaming around, making their farm noises, running into the road.

I was generally confident on the bike, but those gravel backroads make me NERVOUS! Especially when you have to go straight down hill on a gravel road - I do not trust those brakes whatsoever. So I just trinkled down the hill, brake, brake, brake, brake. By the end of the day, my right hand was killing me from the brakes. The flat road was fine, though, even the downhill.


Pucon is situated right at the bottom of Volcan Villarrica, a 2,847 meter active beast that looms over the city, poofing grey smoke into the air. There's an "alert" system in the town center here that basically looks like a stoplight. Green means safe. Yellow means maybe not so safe. Red means run! I am sure it's a bit more technical than that, but I am a bit curious as to how that works. Like what if you don't happen to be passing by the stoplight when they switch it to red? Then what? (Randomly enough, this really LOUD siren just went off outside. I heard it the other day, and thought, uh oh. What does that mean? But the guy next to me just told me it means it's noon. That's kind of unnecessarily scary for noon, don't you think?)


Anyway, of course there are organized ventures to the top of the volcano. And of course, I wanted to go UP THERE! So 7 AM Thursday found me getting geared up for the trek, sitting outside of the trek agency in the dark (sunrise isn't til 8 or so), trying on my boots and my waterproof pants and whatnot. They arrange an entire backpack of things for you - they don't want you to bring anything of your own. I think it's basically so that everyone is properly outfitted, and no one is trying to trek up there in their tennis shoes.


Around 8:45, I was at the bottom of the volcano, boarding a ski lift that would take me to 1,800 meters. They said you could walk that portion of it, and it would take you about an hour, but they highly advised you not to, as it would unnecessarily wear you out for the rest of the trek. At the time, I thought maybe it was a little silly to take the ski lift when my walking legs work just fine, thank you very much, but as soon as I got going on those walking legs, I was very thankful for the ski lift.


We had about 1 hour up regular terrain. It was pretty steep, but not terribly difficult, and we were trekking in a line of about 10 people - 8 trekkers and two guides on both ends. Then we got to the edge of the glacier that covers the top quarter of the volcano, sat down, and put our crampons on our boots. I have never ever used crampons before, and if you don't know what they are, here's a visual. Remember when you were little, and there were two types of roller skates? The ones that were whole boots that laced up the top, and then the ones that just strapped onto your shoes? The crampons are basically like the latter, only they have sharp little fangs instead of rollers. Definitely want those if you're climbing up a very steep and slippery glacier.

It was STEEP. I was nervous. Quite nervous, in fact. Our little group took a few steps on the ice, and the guide began explaining to us how to walk with your crampons, when and how to use your ice axe (which we had to carry in one hand or the other, at all times), and... Ahhhhhhh! A huge cry went up from the glacier. I looked over, and a member of a group ahead of us, who had started up the glacier, was sliding about 50 very steep meters down the glacier, and there was nothing to stop him below but ROCKS. Miraculously, he fell the "right" way, and managed to emerge with only a few scratches, but geez. It was dramatic. I was certain I was witnessing someone's end. And then our guide started back up - So if THAT happens, here's what you do. You have got to be kidding me, I thought. I am supposed to follow in that guy's footsteps? Accident prone me? I was CERTAIN I was going to fall off the side of the volcano. Certain.


The guide put me right behind him, first in line. At first I was a bit pissed, because I know that's where they put the weakest link, so to speak, and well, I like to think I am quite fit and capable. But after a few steps on the ice, I was glad to have that guide right there with me, step here, step here, you're doing great. And after a while, I relaxed, got into a bit of a rhythm - breath, step, axe down, breath, crunch, crunch. But it was really hard work. Really hard. We were on the ice maybe 1.5 hours, and then it was crampons off to climb up the volcanic rock the remaining hour to the top.


That volcanic rock also did not make me very happy. It was really steep as well, and the rocks are so light and crumbly, and it's impossible to tell which ones are going to move when you step on them, and which are not. But I made it. I did it.


And wow. You could just see everything from up there. The whole world, I saw. I'm certain of it. The range of the Andes below was spectacular, the huge lakes surrounding Pucon, I could even see Mount Tronador (where I hiked a few weeks back)!


And the volcano! It was smoking. Literally. We walked right up to the edge of it, and it was emitting little puffs of gas that stank and burned my throat and eyes. It was pretty neat, though. And, from up there, you could see where the last eruption of lava had run down the mountain. In the middle of the green forest, there were dry "rivers" of brown where the last big one had scalded the earth. Crazy!

The way down was almost scarier. I did NOT like walking down that volcanic rock, and the guides were rushing us in a way that made me want to say something very rude. We need to move, they'd say. What is the hurry? Do you want me to die up here? I need to step carefully!


And then we had to get back on that ice with the crampons again. I was really nervous getting back on the ice - having the momentum of the downhill against me did not make me feel very safe. Once I got going, though, it seemed pretty safe. It's practically impossible to fall out here, Bjorn said. So I started to relax, fell into a conversation with him, and then, SMACK! Ellen down. Face on the ice. I only slid down maybe two feet, but I was in tears immediately. It was so awful to be on the top of the world and find yourself about to fall off of it.

Guides were helping me up immediately, and everything was fine, but I was shaken. Just get me down! We only had maybe 20 more minute on the ice, thankfully, and the rest of the way down was pretty easy, so I did make it. Up the volcano and back down, with just a big bruise on my wrist. What a day.

Yesterday was a great day, as well, though less frightening than both the bicycling and the volcano climbing. Horseback riding! I don't think I'd been on a horse since summer camp when I was 10 or so, and I was dying to go in Bariloche and never got the chance.

We got to ride for a good four hours yesterday, through the Chilean farmland, a Mapuche Indian village, beside blue rivers, through green forests full of blackberries ripe for eating! It was a fantastic day. So relaxing. We did a little bit of faster stuff on the horses, but I took it pretty easy when the others went galloping off. Let's you and me just take it slow, little horsey. Let's enjoy the ride.

The folks at the hostel had an asado last night, so that was good fun, and I have now checked out of my hostel and bought a bus ticket for tonight to Valparaiso, a little beach town north of Santiago where Pablo Neruda lived (El Postino, anyone?) I imagine I will stay there for two nights and then head to Mendoza for a few days before my plane leaves for Easter Island. Yipee!!

I really am going to try to be more regular with the writing. I am just having such a blast out here - internet time seems to be falling behind on the priorities. Bueno!

Much love to you all. Have a great weekend.

Santiago, Santiago

Everyone told me that Santiago is a terrible city. Nothing to see. Nothing to do. Polluted. Dirty. Buenos Aires is a much better city, they said.

I am enchanted with this city, though. I can't quite pinpoint why - it's just a feeling. Some things just fit.

Friday morning I moved over to a new hostel here. Hostel Bellavista. I liked it immediately. Big roof-top terrace, funky neighborhood, bright colors.

I met up with my friend Elisabeth (from the school in Bariloche) that afternoon for lunch and sightseeing. Unfortunately, as it was Good Friday, EVERYTHING in the city was closed, from restaurants to shoe stores to museums. But it was actually really nice to get to wander around the city without dodging masses of people.

The first thing you notice about the city is, as everyone says, the smog. You look out in one direction, and see nothing but gray, which doesn't seem that weird until your eyes adjust, and you take in the faint outline of mountains beyond the city. The mountains, you can see, really are not so far away, but you can barely see them. And then you realize you're looking at them through a thick filter of dirty air! Que bueno!

It really is bizarre to look at. You look directly overhead at the blue, blue sky, but then as your eyes fall down to the horizon, things just start to disappear. They say that on a clear day, the skyline with the mountains behind is stunning, but they also say you get a clear day about once a year.

But, the city is quiet! Much quieter than Buenos Aires. The neighborhoods are small and intimate, with brightly colored buildings. People ride bikes everywhere. There are lovely parks full of palm trees and exotic flowers. A huge statue of the Virgin Mary looks out over the city from atop a huge hill. It's a charming city.

Friday night, I wandered up to the terrace, where I fell into a nice little conversation with Bjorn from Sweden, Cody from LA, Brita from LA (though originally from Germany), and Chris from Arizona. The people that you meet in a given city or hostel completely makes your time there, I've decided. At least it does when you are traveling alone. And I loved these new friends and the weekend spent with them.

We all rose early Saturday morning to head out to Cajon del Maipu, an area outside of the city - about 1.5 hour bus ride. It was Chris' idea. He had read about it in his Lonely Planet and just wanted to get out of the city for a bit. Lead on, fearless leader, we said.

Well, it was a great bad day. We arrived at this little park area where you can do treks and rafting and whatnot, but they were charging a ridiculous fee to do anything. We wanted to just go on one short hike up to what was supposed to be a nice waterfall, but not only did we have to pay $7 to do it, we had to wait til 3 PM when a guide could take us up there. I'm not going to say that I'm an expert hiker, but three of the five in our group had hiked Torres del Paine, so I think we probably can handle a 30 minute hike up to a waterfall without a guide.

After a lunch stop at a little farmhouse with grapevines and apricot trees and humingbirds, we split up, Brita and Chris heading onward down the road to see how far the bus would take them, and Cody, Bjorn and me to the waterfall.

We arrived back at the park office to pay the entrance fee at 2 PM, assuming we'd be forced to wait til 3 PM to do the hike. No, go right ahead, the woman says. No problem.

We had a little problem, however. We arrived at the river - necessary to cross to access the trail - to find a bridge with a locked gate on it. Hmmmm. We finally found someone to open the gate for us (clearly some dummy who didn't know what he was doing), but when we got all the way across the bridge and about ten steps down the trail, some park official came running after us. You can't go up there. You have to wait to go with the guide. Blah blah. En serio? I had a few curt words for this man (in English) - is it really necessary to put a lock on...nature??

So, back across the bridge we went to wait for our guide.

If you can imagine a state park in your state, on a holiday weekend, full of people that never enjoy the outdoors, you can imagine what was going on in this park. So when the guide rounded up all of the "hikers," we found ourselves amongst about 60 other people - small children, women in heels and too much makeup, passive fathers.

We did manage to run away from the group before the hike even began and made our way up the hill to find the waterfall. This was not a difficult hike, so I can only assume that they put up so much red tape as a precaution. They probably had a bunch of accidents with ninnies wandering up, wandering off, hurting themselves. One of the guides tried to stop us as we headed back down the hill before the group (Um, this is a group tour, so if you could just wait right here, that'd be great.), but we promptly ignored her, and made our way back. It was the silliest hike I've ever done, but it was a memorable day, for all the frustration and red tape dodging.

On our way back to the hostel, we stopped and picked up a few goodies for a barbecue - steak and salad - which we cooked up and enjoyed with a few other folks up on the terrace. It was a great night. We went out on the town for a bit after dinner, and that's all there is to say about that.

Yesterday was Easter, and I was determined to go to church despite being slightly hungover and exhausted. I managed to rope Bjorn into accompanying me, and off we went, to the big cathedral that sits on the city's main square, Plaza de Armas. I somehow misread the times of the services, so we walked in in the middle of a service, but it was still worth going.

As strict as Catholic churches have a reputation for being, the service was positively chaotic compared to the church I grew up in. Children were running all over the place, their parents didn't really care, people were wandering around, up and down the aisles, talking.

But in the middle of this chaos was a beautiful service. A large choir and orchestra sat at the front, and the music filled up that echoey cathedral with an eerie holiness. For communion, worshippers lined up in the aisles and the congregation sang one of my favorite hymns. I can't figure out what the name of this hymn is, and I've tried to google it, but the chorus goes something like, "Oh, Lord, you have come to the ocean, and while smiling, have called out my name. Now my boat's left, on the shoreline behind me. Now with you, I will seek other seas." I, of course, couldn't sing along in Spanish, but I know that melody by heart, and I sang my English words. I felt both nostalgic for home and enchanted with my new environs the same time, and the midst of the children running around, the heart-breaking music, and the incensed smoke filling the air, I was overwhelmed.

I was trying to explain to Bjorn after the service what church means to me exactly. Telling someone that you went to church every Sunday of your life until you were 18 generally scares them off, so it's hard to explain that even if you left those 18 years still fairly skeptical of the ideas being offered to you, something of the ritual, the process, sticks with you. The music gets inside you, and when you hear one of those songs that you haven't heard for years, it just takes you back to Home. Home.

I am heading to Pucon, Chile tonight, on the overnight bus. Si, I am heading back down south, back to the Lake District. I will definitely be back in Santiago in the next two weeks, though, so more on the big city later. I somehow managed to not really "do" anything in the last few days here, though they were some of my favorite days of my trip so far.

Back to the mountains - adios for now.

With White Flag In Hand

I surrendered to Patagonia on Tuesday. She won, though I can´t say it was a very good game. She´s just better than I am.

Woke early Sunday morning to get on a bus out to Parque Nacional Torres del Paine. Had a backpack full of gear for five days-four nights on the trail, a new trekking buddy, and a I can do anything attitude. I was ready.

We had about a three hour drive out to the park, then had to wait for a while for this little ferry, the Catamaran, as they call it, to take us across Lago Pehoe to the beginning of THE W!

My trekking partner was Kerry, a 24 year old girl from England - just outside of Cambridge, I believe. We were both fairly determined to do the W if we had to do it ourselves, but I think we were also both hoping to find someone to go with. So, when we bumped into each other at an information session on Saturday, we decided to buddy up.

Everyone was asking me if I was worried about trekking with someone I didn´t know. Five days is quite a commitment, they said. What if you´re faster than her? What if she´s a wimp? You´re going to share a tent with her? I was sort of mulling over these questions myself, but I figured if I survived living with various strangers in New York (a total of 5 in 2.5 years), I could survive five days with anyone.

I found out on the last day of hiking that Kerry hadn´t done a day of hiking in her life! If she´d told me that when we met, I probably would´ve bailed out on her.

Anyway, we arrived at the western starting point of the W around 12:30 PM on Sunday, and we were on the trail, heading up to Glacier Grey at 12:55 PM. Everyone had told us, oh, the first day is the easiest. Just 3.5 hours. No big deal. Well, they start you on this "easy" day for a reason, which is - you are carrying the heaviest backpack you´ll carry on day 1 because you have all of your food and your body needs a day to get used to the stress you´re putting on it.

The weather was gorgeous on Sunday - sunny and cool - and the hike was fairly easy, with gorgeous scenery. Turquoise lakes everywhere and about halfway in, you get a stunning view of Glacier Grey. There´s an iceberg, Kerry squealed, in her very proper British accent. I´ve never seen an iceberg before!

Kerry and I turned out to be terrific trekking partners because we had similar notions about pace - no need to hurry, but no need to dilly-dally, either. And, for someone who´s never hiked a day in her life, she did quite well, I´d say.

We arrived to Camping Grey around 4:30, right on schedule, and we actually beat most people to the campsite, which shocked me. There were folks who had been on the catamaran with us who showed up around 7:30. What have you been doing out there? How did you take 7 hours on a 3.5 hour hike?

Kerry and I were pros, from the beginning. We got that tent up, we got our stove going, had a cupasoup, some five minute pasta, cookies, and, of course, some vino that we´d carried in plastic bottles (a brilliant tip I learned from camping with those Suizas). I think we were both feeling very proud of ourselves. The previous times I´ve done any "real" camping, I´ve gone with take-charge people, who do everything for me. But this was entirely me doing stuff for ME!

The sun went down around 8:45, and it was getting quite chilly, so we got on into our sleeping bags around 9 PM. I put on my ipod and laid there in the darkness and was overwhelmed by peace. Some people say that "the peace of God" is found in Patagonia, and I´d say I felt pretty close to that.

I woke in the middle of the night to rain drops padding down on the tent. Great, I thought. But, the next morning, I woke to a totally dry tent and a clearing sky. At least we know the tent´s waterproof, I said to Kerry.

We had oatmeal and coffee for breakfast, and it was muy rico. We had prepared a big ziploc full of instant oatmeal, powdered milk, cinnamon, and sugar - throw in some boiling water and some dried bananas, and you have a bueno desayuno! Really, there is something so rewarding about preparing your own food out there, hovering over your stove, watching the water boil, filling your chilly body with warmth.

The second day of hiking was much easier than the first. We had to retrace our steps to the starting point - 3.5 hours - then 2.5 more hours to the next campsite. The wind on the second day was incredible. People talk about the wind in Patagonia, but in truth, you cannot understand it until it comes up behind you and shoves you out of its way. It´s startling! Just walking along and bam! I actually thought it was Kerry the first time, pushing me from behind.

The wind, of course, doesn´t seem like such a bad thing until it starts carrying a little rain with it. For about twenty minutes the second day, there was a bit of rain, but it felt like hail with the power of the wind behind it. Fortunately, it only rained on us for those twenty minutes. The weather is so changeable there. You look up in one direction and it´s a beautiful day, then you turn your head, and there are storm clouds. Sun and rain and sun and rain, all day long. Hence, there are many, many rainbows in Patagonia!

We arrived at Camping Italiano, set up camp, and then retreated to the cooking shed to prepare our dinner. We hung out for a long time with Justin and Kim, a couple from South Africa (who we had actually had breakfast with as well). I asked them about a zillion questions about South Africa - what an interesting place. I would like a history lesson on this topic, por favor.

After dinner, we boiled one more pot of water, soley for the purpose of filling our nalgenes. We then took those hot nalgenes and stuffed them down in our sleeping bags. I am certain this brilliant move saved our evening. So toasty and cozy in the tent that night - almost uncomfortably hot for a bit.

I woke again in the middle of the night to hear rain but rolled over, feeling safe with the knowledge that our tent survived the previous night of rain. Well, by the time 7 AM rolled around, that tent was not waterproof at all. The whole floor was wet. Not only that, but it was still pouring down rain. Well, this is going to be an interesting day, I thought. When we finally emerged from the soaking tent a couple hours later, we found not only rain but SNOW! All of the tents were iced over on the top, and there were little patches of snow on the ground.

We made our way over to the cooking shed, which was overflowing with people, trying to stay dry. Justin and Kim and Mishka (our Belgian friend) and also our Scottish friend (who was finishing the whole Circuit - 10 days in the park) all talked of bailing. It hadn´t occurred to me yet to just ditch the whole effort; I was prepared to tough it out. But it became clear that pushing forward was going to be both uncomfortable (wet tent, wet sleeping bag) and unsafe (ice on the rocks, not warm enough clothes, etc.)

In the end, I think most everyone that woke up at Camping Italiano on Tuesday morning trekked back to the starting point that day, in order to catch the Catamaran back and get on a bus back to Puerto Natales.

I was disappointed, I must say. But, as Kenny Rogers says, you gotta know when to fold em... know when to walk away, know when to run. Pushing forward just didn´t make any sense.

The walk back to the Catamaran wasn´t terrible, though I was drenched within ten minutes. At one point, I told Kerry I needed to stop to potty, and she said, you really could just go in your pants and nobody would know the difference. Gross, but true. I didn´t do that of course, but when I did finally steer off to squat, I realized I could not feel my bottom. Pulled the pants down but could not feel them sliding down off of my body. And there´s nothing like putting your already numb bottom out into the freezing rain. Wow!

We arrived around 2 PM and then proceded to sit for the next four hours (the next ferry wasn´t til 6:30), feasting on our leftover cookies and chocolate and coffee, commiserating with Justin and Kim and Mishka.

The bus ride back to Puerto Natales was an exercise in patience. Though I had changed shirts and socks, I was still in my wet (though drying) pants, and I just wanted to GET THERE. The ride was about three hours, and I just kept closing my eyes and trying to meditate, desperate for my mind to be anywhere else.

We arrived around 11 PM, soaking hikers spilling into the streets of Puerto Natales with no hostel reservation. Of course, it was still pouring down rain. Mishka and I popped into a cab and headed down to our hostel from Friday and Saturday night, hoping there would be space for us. I opened the door to the hostel, spotted the owner, and quickly made my way over to him. You look like a duck, he said. You look like you would like to be smacked, I wanted to say. Is there room? I aksed. No, he said absent-mindedly.

The owner, Omar, is such a weirdo. Always somewhere else entirely when you are trying to ask an important question.

FOCUS, Omar. I need a bed. Can you please call some other hostels. I cannot go wandering around in this rain. Ellen, chica, chill out, Omar said.

Well, this moment is about as bad as my temperament ever gets. I looked at Mishka, my eyes filling with tears. I just wanted to scream. Finally, Omar found one bed at a hostel a few blocks away, and Mishka was kind enough to walk me all the way there. Mishka reminds me a bit of Gerard Depardieu. He´s sort of got the friendly French giant thing going on. But he´s Belgian.

Anyway, the owner of this hostel found a place for Omar at another hostel, and I headed straight into a hot shower. After a quick bowl of oatmeal, I was in the bed, relieved. What a miserable day.

Yesterday was spent doing laundry, airing out the backpack, returning rented equipment, making plans.

And plans I did make! I knew I wanted to make my way up to Santiago, but hadn´t quite figured out how I was going to do it. The cheapest option was the 30 hour bus to Puerto Montt, though I´d heard that the buses weren´t very nice, and my bad humor from the evening before was still lingering. I was not feeling like being patient with any more discomfort. The other option was to shell out about $400 for four days on a ferry to Puerto Montt. I´d heard mixed reviews of the ferry, though, and just wasn´t feeling eager to spend that kind of money just to avoid the bus (though I think I would have). I was going over all of these options when I ran into Ian and Helen (my Scottish friends from Chalten, who I have run into a few times now. They are terrific.) I think there are really cheap flights to Santiago, Helen said. Sky Airlines, just around the corner. So I popped into the office, inquired, and indeed, I could get a flight to Santiago for the next day (today) for just $120. Done!

So here I am in Santiago. The flight today was incredible. If only they had this kind of service in the states...and why don´t they? In the four hours I was on the plane, they offered me two (TWO!) whole meals, both with salad and dessert. What is this place? The food was great, too. And free wine and beer! And more leg room!

Yesterday, I also booked a ticket to Easter Island. Yipeeeeeee! I am heading out there for 8 days on April 6th, and I cannot wait. The ticket was painfully expensive, but Easter Island is the reason I became interested in visiting South America in the first place, so to not go would just be silly. Six years ago, sitting in my "Arts of the Pacific" class, I learned about the island and the Rapa Nui and I told myself then, I WILL visit this place. And now I´m going to. Dream realized. And I´ve lined up the trip with my two British friends from the hostel in Puerto Natales, Liam and Mike, so bueno to have people with to hang out with if I want to.

So now I have about two weeks to do Santiago and whatever else I want to do in the area. I don´t have a guidebook for Chile yet, so I really don´t know what I´m going to do, but I think there will be some side trips to Chiloe, Valparaiso, and Vina del Mar.

As much as I want to be this outdoorsy person (and maybe I am a teeny bit), I have to admit that arriving in the city today was thrilling and a huge relief. Back to civilization!

Two of my friends from Bariloche are now studying at the school here in Santiago, so I am going to meet up with one of them tomorrow for some sight-seeing and catching up. For now, I think I am going to have an early evening here in the hostel (though they are apparently serving free pisco sours downstairs...).

Happy Easter everyone. It´s about bunny rabbits down here, too. I saw several kindergarten-aged kids on the streets today painted up with bunny faces, wearing bunny ears. I may actually try to go to some big Catholic mass around here - probably would be a classic Santiago experience!

Adios for now. And much love, as always.

Pics and People Who Miss Buses

Hello, my pretties. Sorry to keep bombarding you with photos, but considering how many there are, you´ll be glad you don´t have to look at alllll of them at once, four months from now, right?

http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy

Have spent a relaxed time in Puerto Natales so far. Ended up dining with some very dry, amusing British chaps last night and laughed until I cried and my sides hurt. I haven´t laughed like that in a few weeks, so it felt GREAT.

Just got an email from the chica I´m supposed to trek with tomorrow. She missed the bus from Calafate this morning, so she´s stuck there for another day. To wait for her or to go on. That is my question now. I think it might be easy enough to find others to hike with, so I´m going to go looking. We´ll see. I´m pretty ready to get going tomorrow.

Slept like a rock last night, despite being in a room with seven other people, and had an incredible breakfast this morning. The owner of the hostel actually made me an omelet! AND, he had peanut butter on the table. Peanut butter is non-existent in Argentina. Maybe things are different over here in Chile.

Okay, have decisions to make now, so I´m gonna go try to make them. Enjoy the pics and have a great weekend. Much love.

This Is A Long One

Oh, friends! It has been quite a week. I don´t know how I am going to keep up with this blog now that I´m on the road! It´s like getting around to calling that friend that you haven´t talked to in months and that you wanna talk to but you know is going to use at least 1.5 hours of your time up (at least if you´re a talker like meeee).

I don´t want to get in the habit of copying my (edited) journal entries for you, though. They´re a bit raw. So I will do some copying and pasting and filling in.

So...

Monday was an incredible day in Chalten. I got on the trail to Laguna de los Tres around 10:30 AM, and it was an ideal day for a hike - crisp with warm sun and blue skies. The first two hours weren´t particular difficult - quite pleasant, actually, with amazing views of Fitz Roy. Apparently, most days, it´s impossible to see the very tippity top of Fitz Roy because there´s usually one annoying little cloud hanging over it, but I could see it! It´s quite a sight.

Passed by several huge campgrounds, swamped with people. Not sure what´s so very fun about camping amongst 300 other campers, but I am not a professional like these folks clearly were. Some of these "serious" trekkers can be real assholes, I have to say. I´d walk by people, say hello, and not even get eye contact from them. It´s just a hike, people. They were giving me looks like I was an idiot for hiking in my jeans and sweatshirt - like I am the tourist because I don´t have the real gear, but they, THEY own the mountains because all their clothing is gore-tex and "breathable". Just a day hike. Let´s not take ourselves so seriously. Seriously.

It was about 3.5 hours one way, and the last hour was a steep climb. The wind was blowing like crazy! It´s both terrifying and utterly exhilarating to be climbing up a mountain and be just about an inch from being blown right off. But I was in high spirits as I passed up the huge group of older Americans plodding up in their fancy gear.

The trail takes you right up to this beautiful turquoise lake that sits right at the foot of the glacier that creeps down from Fitz Roy. "Marvilloso!" a woman exclaimed, as the peak came into full view. And it really was. Marvelous. I´ll try to get pics up tomorrow.

I sat on a nice flat rock, enjoying my much deserved lunch and basking in the sunshine and stunning scenery. After lunch, I took the trail right up to the lake, where I found that group of older Americans. Chatted with them for a bit, had someone take my photo, yada yada. "Good for you" everyone says when I say I´m traveling alone. Coming from folks who are older than me and know more about life, I´ll take those words as a sign that I´m doing something right.

The hike back to Chalten was difficult, mostly just mentally. My little pinky toes were killing me, so when I had about 1.5 hours left, I laid down on a sunny rock by the river and took a little 30 minute recreo (of course, stopping only makes starting back up that much worse).

I headed straight for the cervezeria when I got back. Do not shower. Do not pass go. I was planning to just have one beer, journal, cool my heels, but then Ian and Helen, from Scotland, joined me at my table. Fell into a long conversation with them, which turned into more drinks, lots of popcorn, then a tostada with bacon (yum! bacon is sooooo rare here) and a brownie sundae. So much for that calorie burning hike! It was a great evening - a perfect end to a very hard but rewarding day, and I crashed into bed that night (literally - smacked my head quite hard on the bunk above me getting in).

Tuesday was cloudy and a bit rainy, which worked out well because my body was hurting after two long days of hiking, and I needed a day off.

Enjoyed a long, leisurely breakfast at the hostel that morning. I just love breakfast here. Coffee with milk, warm croissants, staring out at the mountains and the river. An ideal way to start a day. Surely I can have this in the states, too? Instead of - slurping down a bowl of instant oatmeal while standing over the kitchen counter and sucking down overly strong coffee while eyes glaze over at the computer. Surely.

Anyway, Tuesday I went out to Lago del Desierto. My Lonely Planet said it was a good rainy day activity, and you know, I believe everything they say. So a little van took me out in the rain to this lago, about a 1.5 hour drive, where we then got on a boat for another couple hours. In the rain. I wouldn´t call it big fun, but it was relaxing. Suited my rainy day mood. The lake, as all lakes here, was bright turquoise. I wonder what causes these colors. Stunning, but a very sharp contrast against the greens of the surrounding forest. Quite a clash, really. Amazing what colors come striaght out of nature.

When I arrived back at the hostel around 9 PM, I was greeted by Oliver, a 22 year old Colorado guy who I´d met earlier in the day. "What´s for dinner?" he said. When I replied probably pasta, he said, "Well, Hayden here is cooking up some lamb and potatoes, so maybe you should go buy yourself some meat and join us?" Porque no? I said. My new motto.

There were seven of us for dinner - Hayden´s from Oregon but is traveling with two San Francisco guys he meet along the way, Justin and Andrew. Then Celia from Australia, Sarah from London, me and Oliver. Quite a feast. I suppose Hayden fancies himself to be something of a chef, as he described the lamb sauce as being a "wine reduction" something or other. Por favor. The lamb was delicious, but the sauce was a really funky purple color. Sarah and I snickered as our plates were placed before us.

The majority of this group had been traveling together for a few days, and I felt a bit out of place. Outside of the inside jokes. The SF guys were nice enough, but I felt like I´d suddenly walked into a frat party. Let´s put on our coolest selves, people. Let´s tell our funniest jokes. Blahhhhh.

I put on my I feel like an outsider self, which people love. (I can just hear Kathryn saying "palms open, smile with your teeth showing!") No, it really wasn´t that way at all, but some people just make me feel uneasy right off the bat. I don´t know what it is - strong personalities, maybe. People that need to own a conversation. Just makes me want to hide inside myself like a mute.

Anyway, it was a fun night, more or less. Mas o menos. Another favorite phrase.

Oliver was quite a character, in the end. I think he´s lost. Not all those who wander are lost, as someone says. I´m not lost, for example. I feel mostly found. But Oliver is lost. The more I heard about his previous months traveling, the clearer it became that he stays high on something or other at all times. He talked about buying acid off the street in Bariloche like it was this thing he did every day. Really? On your trip to South America? How do you process anything that way? I guess that´s the point. You don´t want to process. There´s something in that head of yours you want to go away.

He went off on this tirade about Israeli travelers to Neal and me, which turned into a very awkward conversation. "Why are there more Israeli travelers than American travelers?" I give up. "Because nobody wants to be in Israel." Was I supposed to laugh? I´m sorry. I missed something. I didn´t get it. According to Oliver, there are tons of Israelis who travel after their service in the army over there, and they travel in fairly large groups and are very rude to women and service people. I can´t personally comment on this because I have no idea, but I told Oliver I thought he probably had a small view of the world at this point, and Neal said he hoped he fell in love with an Israeli girl, and the conversation ended. Ha.

The group travel probably IS a bad idea, though - you´re never forced to be very uncomfortable when you have familiars all around.

Boarded a bus for El Calafate on Wednesday afternoon. It was a day earlier than planned but I felt like I´d exhausted Chalten, and my pinky toes both had huge blisters on them from the day before, so I was not up for anymore hiking. I was in a weird mood for all of Wednesday and therefore did not do hardly any socializing with anyone in the hostel that night. I sat in the main room eating my dinner for a while, but they put on this reggae cover of my favorite Radiohead album, and I had to retreat into my bed and cover my ears. Why, oh why, would anyone think it was okay to turn Radiohead into reggae?

Thursday was a much better day. Woke around 7:15 AM to get ready for the trip to see the Perito Moreno glacier. A bus picked me and a few others up at the hostel, and we had about a 1.5 hour ride out there. Saw an incredible sunrise (Don´t worry - they stop the bus for these things so people can take photos. Gag, but I´m secretly glad I got a photo.) over Lago Argentino, which I believe is the largest lake in Argentina.

El Calafate is a total tourist haven, so it was somewhat disappointing for that. Nothing to do but sign up for tours. Glaciers, mostly. Horseback riding, too. And it´s full of the REAL tourists. The ones who only want tours, who can´t be bothered to walk anywhere.

We arrived at the site of the glacier around 10:15 AM. Had time for quick cup of hot coffee before practically being forced onto the hour long boat ride. They advertise the bus as just being 90 pesos, but then they drop you at this place, where there´s really nothing but a restaurant and a far-off view of the glacier and say, "We highly recommend the boat. Be back on the bus in an hour." Okay, so if you don´t want to spend the extra 40 pesos, what do you do? Suppose I could have just sat myself in the restaurant and read and drank coffee, but no, I surrendered. I went. Ugh! Make the tours and the spending stop! You come down to Patagonia to be isolated and do some nice hiking, and then, in order to do anything, you have to pay. Booooring.

The boat was good, though. It took us fairly close to the front of the glacier, which was immense. Magificent. An enormous, sprawling, field of ice. And it moves two meters per day! That´s actually a lot, I think.

There was this annoying American couple on the boat - probably 70s - and I overheard the strangest conversation between them. "There are some very pretty girls on this boat," she said. "You don´t usually see that." Then they sort of started critiquing these two girls who were out on the deck, out of earshot. Bizarre. I just wanted to turn around and hush them. We are looking at a GLACIER, remember?

After the boat, they drove us up to the main lookout area, and left us there for about 2.5 hours. I wandered all the way down to the lowest lookout and was sitting, eating my cheese and crackers and banana when a huge rumble erupted from the glacier. Like thunder. I had missed it, absorbed in my lunch, wondering if I could really spend two whole hours staring at the same glacier.

So I stood up, mosied down to the fence, where tourist after tourist was perched with camera, in anticipation of the next big one! And I have to say, I was sucked in, as soon as I saw a chunk of the glacier break off into the water. It was incredibly exciting. Did you see that?! Do it again, do it again! Lots of oohing and ahhing and applauding from the audience.

And so the next two hours were spent, standing, just watching that glacier, entranced. Maybe just an enormous chunk of ice but that thing was alive! You´d hear this squeaky groan, scan the glacier - where did that come from? - and then suddenly, a massive block of ice broke free, heaving itself into the turquoise water below, creating an incredible splash and a deafening kaboom.

Was in a grand mood when I returned from the glacier, and it was a gorgeous day, so I put on my shorts and my baseball cap and went out for a walk. I wandered out of the tourist-clogged "city center" because...it was tourist-clogged...into the surrounding neighborhoods. Calafate is sort of a mix between Bariloche and Chalten. It has the recently-slapped-together-for-the-purpose-of-supporting-tourists feel of Chalten, but is a bit bigger with some of Bariloche´s sense of stable community.

I spotted a huge hill with several dirt roads snaking up it, and as I got closer, I noticed a group of several children sledding down the hill on what looked like a side of a cardboard box. I hadn´t even thought of what it must be like to grow up in such a place, but now, I have some sense of it. It´s not stuffed with ballet lessons and piano lessons and soccer practice, I don´t think. Just you and your friends and your neighborhood and the things you can dig out of the garage or the neighbor´s yard. (Although, sliding down a hill on a cardboard box sounds exactly like what my brother and I used to get into.)

The houses are raw, bricks with hastily splattered cement oozing from between them. The yards are overflowing with tall yellow weeds and are enclosed by rusty wire fences. Clothes that have seen too many washings hang from the clothes line. Horses and roosters roam about. There´s trash everywhere.

I was climbing up this dirt road, getting further away from familiar territory and was struck with an odd realization. Nobody has a clue where I am right now. This has certainly been true before, but never before has it ever registered so fully. Is this what real freedom feels like? I wonder.

I got a lot of funny looks from women and kissy noises from men, as I fitness-walked past. Don´t think shorts are part of the dresscode down in these parts. I must´ve looked ridiculous. I felt ridiculous after a while.

I have no real sense of fear of things, like wandering into what may or may not be an unsafe situation, an unsafe area of a town I don´t know. I´m not sure how I got to be this way. I remember having a very hard time going on overnight trips with school in 6th grade. Got sick to my stomach before getting on the bus. Almost backed out. So how did I get here? There were three girls from SF staying in my room last night, one of whom is considering quitting her job and taking some time off. Go for it, I told her! But don´t you get scared? she asked. Like, did you see those big dogs outside of the hostel? Don´t you get scared of being alone? I´m scared of more intangible things, I guess. Too confident on some levels, not confident enough on others.

My old worries have left me, though. My head feels empty most of the time. Only processing what I´m looking at or who I´m talking to or thinking through the next move. It´s weird to be so completely relaxed. I´m not sure I´ve ever been so relaxed, in fact. A good thing, I´m sure. Just weird. But exactly what I wanted every time I was stuck in the middle of a bad day at work. Just let me escape for a little while, go blank.

Okay, let´s wrap it up! I´m in Chile now! Arrived in Puerto Natales around 2 PM this afternoon, and, for your information, I am now only one hour ahead of NYC. I can´t say much about Puerto Natales yet, so perhaps I will report on that tomorrow.

I am hitting a 4 day version of the W trail of Torres del Paine on Sunday morning. And that´s not W for you know who - it´s the shape the trail makes. My trekking partner is going to be Sarah, who I met at the hostel in Chalten. She was also planning to do the W solo, so we said, why not just pair up? She´s arriving tomorrow afternoon, so I imagine all of tomorrow afternoon and evening will be spent getting ready!

I went to an information session at one of the hostels today. It was unbelievably helpful and got me super excited for the hike. We are going to camp all the way - three nights - so we´re renting all the necessary equipment. Eeee! I´m excited. Did I say that already? EEEEE.

And I bumped into two girls I met on the bus down from Bariloche at the session. Turns out they are staying at my hostel, too! So we are going to get some dinner together in a bit.

Will try to get back here and post pics in the morning. Til then!

Notes From Nowhere

From 3.7.08


It´s 2:15 PM here on the bus, and I am surrounded on all sides by the desert of the Patagonian steppe.


I´ve tried to start writing three times now. It´s 5:40. My mind is utterly empty. This landscape just sucks everything out of you.

I´ve arrived now at the Koshen Hostel in Perito Moreno. Writing was impossible on the bus because of the gravel and dirt roads. Took too much concentration to not allow my hand to be jolted from the page.

But we´ve arrived now, thank goodness. The hostel is very quaint. I´m sharing a suite with five other people - four girls from Ireland who are traveling together and John from San Francisco, who also quit his job and bought a one way ticket. The beds are upstairs - 2 bunks and a double, and downstairs is a full kitchen with table and chairs and a bathroom. Perfecto!

The ride today was sort of blah. Not great, not terrible. Had two seats to myself, which is always nice, but once the sun came out, it was quite hot and stuffy in there. Woke from my post lunch siesta in a sweat.

We made three stops - El Bolson for coffee, some other place for gross gas-station sandwiches, and Rio Mayo for mid afternoon stretch and snack. The woman working the register at Rio Mayo looked like a church lady. So properly dressed. Hose with reinforced toes with sandals from the 60s. Orange lipstick. And that skin. Like an uncooked cinnamon roll. Doughy, pasty, soft.

The towns are nothings. Quite literally the middle of nowhere. My view out the window didn´t change for hours. Desert- green, grey, and straw shrubs, rocks, endless. And the sky. The sky here is magnificent. Vibrant blues that just dilute as they melt down towards the horizon. Liquid blue. Like water out there. The wispy clouds hang so low. I felt like I could just put my hand up and move them around if I wanted.

The scenery was dull, actually, but very calming at the same time. I just lost track of everything staring out at it. I kept trying to conceptualize where I was in relation to the rest of the world. To the world I know. But I couldn´t make sense of it.

The bus driver. Exactly like the SNL guy who always plays the fat Mexican. He asked two guys where they were from, and when they said Taiwan, he said, "Oh, Taiwan! Sianara!" and sort of bowed his head and burst out laughing. So un-PC. Hysterical.

The SF guy thought I was Argentinian, even after hearing me speak to the woman at the cash register. Yes!

******

From 3.9.08

Sunday evening. Sitting in Aylen-Aike hostel, looking out at Rio de las Vueltas. An eventful two days.

Yesterday morning, I woke early with the Irish gals to venture out to Los Antiguos to see the Cave of Hands. The van picked us up at 7 AM, and we rode - 15 of us total - for 3.5 hours, over rocky dirt roads. There was a beautiful sunrise, but otherwise, the journey was mostly unremarkable. Saw a huge line of cattle, being herded from one big area of nothing to another big are of nothing. "Que lindo bife," a fellow passenger said. The cows were quite pretty.

John from SF said he wasn´t going to the caves because it seemed like a tourist trap. Definitely not a tourist trap, though to me, tourist trap looks like Gatlinburg. Nobody was there but us. Middle of nowhere. There was a 45 minute walk past the cave art, with a guide, speaking at turns Spanish and English, though I could tell the Spanish speaking audience was getting much more information. There were no caves to go into. We walked along the Canyon de las Pinturas, the wind was blowing fiercely, and the clouds were firmly covering any chance of warmth we had from the sun. Chilly.

The art was interesting, though I´m still undecided as to whether it was worth such an early start. I suppose it´s sort of like asking yourself, "Would I go 3.5 hours out of my way to see that painting by that artist that I´ve seen reproduced over and over again in books and pamphlets?" In some cases, of course, the answer is yes. But I don´t know. Something about this just seemed fake to me. I mean, I had moments of thinking, "Wow. Crazy that people lived and survived out here. And crazy that this art has survived out here in the open air." But I don´t know. The guia kept giving all of these elaborate explanations for what and why (ritual - for good luck in the hunt, etc.) but what I found myself thinking, as I was supposed to be marvelling at human origins, was - this is probably just the remnants of their graffiti. Or this is probably what the mommas and the poppas set their kids to doing to keep them out of their hair. I minored in art history. I like this stuff. Think it´s fascinating. But sometimes I think there´s gotta be a simpler explanation for things. Though, I guess, in a thousand years, if someone tried to interpret graffiti in a NYC subway, they´d (rightly) find more in it than just some kid´s desire to leave his mark.

We had one hour more in the van after the tour, til we met up with the big bus and the group that opted to sleep in. It was a different bus than the day before. No bathrooms! At fisrt I thought, What a mess this is going to be. What if I really have to go? But as soon as someone indicated a need to the driver, that bus just pulled right over to the side of nothing, and people were free to squat as they pleased. That´s how utterly desolate it was.

The scenery wasn´t beautiful exactly, but it was striking. Like that friend you have who people call beautiful once they get to know them or have time to adjust to their face.

It was a slow, long day. Two hours had passed, and I had done nothing but stare out the window, lost in thoughts of people and places and lives and also just nothing.

I am sick of my music. I set the thing on shuffle, and then skip through 40 songs, trying to find something new and refreshing for my ears.

Finally stopped trying and turned to my book. What an incredible book - In Patagonia by Bruce Chatwin. He has such a precise, concise, amusing writing style. Three pages at a time. One Patagonian story after another. He was fascinated, enchanted by this land. He tells a good story. An alternative history. Me gusta.

One thing he´s constantly drawing attention to is the immigrant backgrounds of the "locals" he meets. Irish, Scottish, Italian, German. Everyone having abandoned their roots in search of something else, better, different. North AND South America are full of immigrants - not just the US. I forget sometimes. It´s crazy to think that some people, over in Germany, have roots in the same place, going back forever. What a sense of self and identity that must provide. But me? Americans? Who are we? I don´t know my story. I need to know my story.

Was reading about Chatwin´s encounter with an old Italian opera singer when CRACK! right next to my ear. I was so lost in my book, I wasn´t even that startled. But when I looked out the window, I could see nothing but black lines and tiny, odd-shaped circles. The window was shattered. The Irish gal behind me had a lap full of glass. It must´ve been a rock - not really all that shocking considering the road we were traveling - but wow! It´s an utter miracle that no on had a face full of glass. No one - neither me, nor the Irish girl, nor anyone around us - had a cut. Incredible.

The guy who wrote the intro to my book said that Patagonia is a crazy place, where anything is possible, and now I believe it. Man and nature are at odds out here. Man has not yet conquered all.

We all moved into available seats toward the front, and I spent the next hour fighting nerves and trying to convince myself that I hadn´t somehow swallowed a tiny piece of glass, that had pierced my esophagus and would eventually cause me to bleed to death, internally. It would be too late, of course, to save me by the time I had any symptoms.

Luckily, we soon stopped at a nice estancia for a meal. (I forgot to mention that all of my meals thus far have consisted of my own crackers or granola bars or gas station sandwiches that are totally inedible and yet! I found a way to eat.) There were homemade chicken empanadas and pizzas, so I got myself an empanada and a slice and a grande Quilmes and supped with a super nice older couple. Maybe 60s. He´s German, she´s Ecuadorian (?), and they move from home to home at various times of the year. "Because I´m retired," he said, "so I have the freedom." Yes. Claro.

The empanadas didn´t taste quite like chicken to me, but everything was delicious and I relaxed and smiled and talked. And had an amazing piece of pie - dulce de leche with coconut. The pie version of a Samoa. Yum!

After dinner, I wondered out into the front yard of the house, and found a man shooing two guernacos down the main driveway. They´re like llamas. Then I turned back in the direction of the house, noticed the dogs feasting on something, and went over to observe. A few feet in front of the dogs were three guernaco heads. Just the heads and necks. Poor things. I started wondering, as we bumped on down the road, what is done with the bodies, if the heads are dog food? My empanadas! Es posible? Creo que si.

The sun made a very dramatic exit last night. Curtains of rain falling from fat clouds in the distance glowed pink. Los nubes were lilac grey.

I spent the last two hours into Chalten listening to the SF guy tell his whole life story to two of the Irish girls. They were in the first row, and I was probably in the tenth, so I imagine the entire bus was woefully aware of how he just up and left his girlfriend of three years and bought a one way ticket to SA. He gossiped about his own life the way a girl does. Unbelievably irritating to listen to.

Finally arrived at the Rancho Grande hostel in El Chalten around midnight. The receptionist assigned me to room 8, and off I went, down a long corridor. The room was dark and sweaty when I opened the door, and I could make out two bunk beds and two bodies sprawled out on the bottom bunk of each. I didn´t know what to do with myself for a few minutes. I felt utterly alone. Surely there´s some kind of hostel etiquette for this situation, I thought, but what is it? Should I turn on the lights so I can see to prepare myself for bed? I don´t know why this situation stressed me so, but in the end, I left the door ajar just enough to see my things, made a quick trip to the bathroom to wash up and change clothes and then just went back to the room and climbed onto a top bunk.

Nicole, who was here a month ago, told me that she had bugs in her bed at Rancho Grande, so I spent thirty minutes swatting invisible bugs, scratching non-existent itches. Finally fell into a deep sleep and woke this morning refreshed, unbitten, and free of the scaries of the night before.

I packed my things, enjoyed a filling breakfast of toast and butter and jam and all you can drink cafe con leche, got directions to my next hostel and headed out.

I could see nothing of Chalten when we arrived last night, but when I stepped out this morning, I found myself in the mountains.

My Lonley Planet describes Chalten as a city that was "slapped together" and I wasn´t sure what that meant exactly until I saw it. Indeed, slapped together is exactly what it is. Started in just 1985, Chalten looks like a model train neighborhood. Small square houses in bright colors, half of which are under construction. Small gravel roads. It´s a work in progress. There´s nothing here but the mountains.

I found Aylen Aike - also a recommendation from Nicole - dropped my backpack and then went out. Found the park ranger´s office, got a map of the area and several recommendations for day hikes, and then hit the mercado, where I bought pasta and sauce and a few things for picnic lunches, too.

I hiked Lago Torre today. A little over 12 miles total. The hiking wasn´t difficult, and there were many people on the trail - a few from the bus. The lake itself is nice. Sits right at the bottom of the glacier and is situated right plop in the center of the mountains. Like the last piece of fruit in the bowl. Couldn´t see the lake at all until I climbed right up to the edge of it.

It was a solitary day. I briefly stopped to answer some questions about the lake for a couple that couldn´t decide if they wanted to keep going, but that, and the occasional "hola" to passers-by, was it. As I made my way back though the streets of Chalten to the hostel, the wind was blowing hard, my feet were hurting, it was growing colder, and I started wondering what I was doing. Can I really do this for four more months? This kind of solidarity?

I took a hot and perfectly pressured shower, got a cerveza and sat myself in the main room here, for a little reading and writing.

I met Neal, a 40-50 year old guy from Utah with a ponytail, straight off his "moto" as he calls it. He has a 15 month sabbtical from Univ. of Utah, were he teaches 3-D digital art and photography, and he´s riding all over SA. He concentrates very hard when he speaks. I want to get some photography tips from him.

Stomach started grumbling so went to the kitchen to prepare my penne with tomato sauce and parmesan. Fell into a conversation with a really nice 20-something couple from London. Got some terrific tips about Torres del Paine - turns out I can do it by myself, as there are strategically placed refugios all along the circuit. Definitely going to do that, after Calafate.

And so I answered my question. Yes, I can do this. Absolutely. I am certain I am going to be struck by intense loneliness along the way, as I am certain to experience intense happiness, too. The adventure has really started now. The exciting and scary and hard part.

Now time to plan tomorrow´s hike and hit the hay. Long day.

Heading to the End of the World

Hello, friends! Don´t have much to report today, as I haven´t exactly been as productive with my last few days in Bariloche as I thought I might be. But the "activities" I wanted to do are expensive, and I had to buy some new hiking shoes. Gotta have priorities!

But, it has been a lovely few days here. Very relaxing. I feel like I´m on vacation! Three hour hikes in the mornings, big relaxing lunches with books, naps in the park, pool playing after dinner. All good things.

So my bus for El Chalten pulls out at 6:15 AM tomorrow morning. Yeow! That´s early. Not sure what kind of bus this is going to be - don´t think it´s quite as deluxe as the one I took from Buenos Aires - but hopefully it will be comfortable enough for me to do a bit of sleeping. We shall see.

We have a full day of driving tomorrow, straight down Ruta 40, then the bus stops at Perito Moreno (the town, not the big glacier - though I am going to see that...later) for the evening, where we have a hostel reservation somewhere. Saturday morning, I am going to go check out the Cave of Hands, and then it´s back on the bus, for another full day of driving. We are due to arrive in El Chalten around 9 PM, I believe. Chalten Travels, who organizes this journey, is the only company (I think) that runs down Route 40, so you are sort of forced into the tourist thing. Hopefully, my fellow travelers will be cool tourists like me (I am so cool.) and not annoying tourists, but I cannot hand-pick them, unfortunately. If only I ruled the world. I would like it so much:)

Anyway, I have a hostel reservation in El Chalten til next Thursday, at which point I think I am going to El Calafate to see that Perito Moreno glacier. After that, I am considering Puerto Natales, the jumping off point for Torres del Paine, and after that, I am considering Puerto Montt, Chile. That´s the loose plan, but you know, these things are...subject to change. Then straight up Chile, then back in to Argentina for Mendoza, Cordoba, Salta, then back into northern Chile for the desert, then PERU! I think. I just get silly excited thinking about all of this. Silly!

I need to go pack now. And have a final cena with the family. And I might actually go to a reggae concert later tonight because...why not?

Not sure what kind of internet access I am going to have in Patagonia (they don´t have ATM machines in El Chalten, so who knows), so it may be some days before I can write again. But until then, much, MUCH love, from a gal who is loving life at the end of the world!

Mount Tronador

First things first! I want to welcome my two newest friends into the world - Reuben and Meridian Cloniger. They joined us yesterday morning. Love to the entire Martin and Cloniger clan. I am so happy for you all.

Now, what an incredible weekend. Easily the highlight of my trip, thus far.

(If you are interested, here´s a link to a map of the area, so you can see where we hiked - http://www.bariloche.com/parques_e.asp . Day one, we hiked from Pampa Linda to Refugio Otto Meiling. Day two, we retraced our steps from Otto Meiling, then walked north, along Rio Frias. Day three, we continued north along Rio Frias to Puerto Frias, where we boarded a boat across Lago Frias, then a quick bus to Puerto Blest, then another boat to Bariloche.)

Friday morning, I, along with six others, boarded a small bus (more like a van, really) around 8:30 AM. My traveling companions were Elian and Phillipe from Switzerland, Peter from Germany, Angie from Argentina, Sabrina from Switzerland, and Quirin from Lichtenstein. The bus carried us to Pampa Linda - about a two hour ride. It was slow going because the roads were small and covered with dirt and gravel, but the scenery out the window was gorgeous. I could just feel myself getting farther and farther away from the man-made world.

Pampa Linda is a little area, mostly serving as the jumping off point for trekking around Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi. There´s a park office there and a little lodge and restaurant. We hung around there for about an hour, registering our names with the park office, studying the map, having a snack, and generally getting organized. And then, around 11:30 AM, we were off!

We had about a five hour climb ahead of us to Refugio Otto Meiling, most of which was up, up, up. The first two hours were mostly in the forest. It was partly cloudy and cool - perfect weather for working up a sweat. It wasn´t what I would call extremely difficult, but it was difficult, it was work, and we were all carrying huge backpacks full of tents and sleeping bags and food and whatnot. I´ve done a bit of day-hiking but never real backpacking like this, so it was a totally new experience for me. One that I´ll definitely do again.

About halfway up, the clouds started to part, and we had our first glimpse of Tronador! I saw it about every five minutes for the next two or three hours, but every time was like the first time. Wow! LOOK at THAT! I took about a million pictures, which I am working on uploading at the moment. We had a short pit stop for lunch - cheese and sausage and crackers and chocolate and hot tea - and then it was onward.

The second half of the hike was out of the forest - the terrain changed from trees and dirt to just rocks, everywhere. Rocks and beautiful views. You could see the entire glacier, the waterfall cascading down from it, Pampa Linda below, and mountains, and skies.

At one point, I saw a large shadow pass over my head, and when I looked up, there were about six HUGE condors circling above. I have never seen anything like it. I took many pictures, but the essense of the moment does not come across at all. I just stood and stared for about ten minutes.

After about five hours of hiking, we spotted the refugio ahead. The refugio is situated at the bottom of Tronador, about 2000 meters up (which is 6500 feet). It was a bit bizarre to be in the middle of nowhere and come upon a little house. How did that get there? you wonder. Did they heliocopter the building materials in? Must have. It looked like just a little metal shack, but was actually quite modern and cozy inside. There was dormitorio on the second floor, that was basically just a big room with wall to wall mattresses on the floor, a small bathroom (just sinks and toilets), a kitchen (yours to use for a small fee), and a little eating area. All around the refugio were these little circles of rocks, where people had previously set up camp outside. We decided we´d camp it, so we went about having a beer and setting up camp. And then there was a good bit of laying on the rocks, relaxing, looking out at the mountains. It was much cooler up there than down in Pampa Linda, but the sun was strong and warm. Quite comfortable.

We took a short trek up onto the glacier before dinner, drank some pure glacier water, and watched the sun disappear behind Tronador. When it started to get cool outside and stomachs started rumbling, we headed inside to prepare dinner. Pasta and vino.

When I finally headed out to my little one man tent (borrowed from my friend Simon), I was pooped, and I thought I would be asleep in no time, legs tired and stomach full of pasta and wine. I was wrong. I laid there about three hours. Just laying. My face was freezing and I just couldn´t relax. Somebody outside started snoring, I started to feel dread at the thought of having to go to the bathroom, I couldn´t get comfortable, the wind was rustling the tent and making me feel like there were little somethings trying to get into my tent. My mind was not allowed to turn off. So, after much debating, I decided that being a wimp and going inside (taking refuge in the refugio!) would be better than starting the next day having had no sleep. So I unzipped the sleeping bag, unzipped the tent, flicked on my little flashlight, and walked down to the refugio. This was about 3 AM.

(I should note here, that the stars were just perfect. I can´t describe them. I was at the end of the world, no sign of the real world anywhere, and the sky was lit up so brightly, illuminating the shapes of the mountains around me. It was incredible. I need some new words to describe these things.)

In the refugio, I climbed up the stairs to the dormitorio, but I could not see a thing. Pitch black. And I didn´t want to turn on my flashlight and wake up everyone, trying to see if there was an available mattress. So I just felt around at the top of the stairs, decided there was enough room for my body on the floor and just plopped down right there. The floor wasn´t exactly any more comfortable than the bed of rocks and mud I´d had outside, but my mind finally did shut off. At least for a few hours.

I was exhausted the next morning, but after two cups of coffee and some jam and bread, I was, more or less, ready to go. So we headed back down the mountain, the way we came, around 11 AM. We left Angie and Quirin and Sabrina at the refugio - they were going to head back down to Pampa Linda a bit later, and then head strait back to Bariloche.

Downhill hiking is cruel. Cruel! But we made it. Feet and thighs and knees on fire.

When we got back down, we took the trail towards the Paso de las Nubes (Passage of the Clouds). The first several hours of the new trail were just heaven. The forest was totally foreign to me. All along the path were these magnificent bamboo-like plants, which gave everything a very exotic feeling. I´d peer upwards and see these amazing mountains overhead, see the turquoise rio running next to the path. It was so lovely and new and strange.

When we first left Pampa Linda, the ranger had told us that there was a new refugio somewhere past the Paso, but to use extreme caution because the river we had to cross to get there was unusually high after Friday´s rain.

We walked along the Rio Frias for some hours before finding the spot where, indeed, we were supposed to cross. We scoured the area to find the best way across, but there was really no way. Just had to hitch up the pants and go for it. Peter, the 47 year old German guy, threw his shoes across the rio, so that they´d be there when he got across. Great idea, I thought. When he looked at me, getting ready to follow his lead, he said, want me to do that for you? Ummm, no. I´m not some dumb girl who can´t throw! As it turns out, I am some dumb girl who can´t throw. The moment the first shoe left my hand, we all knew it was not going to make it. I am laughing out loud in this internet cafe thinking about it. Hilarious (now). My shoe rested for about 2 seconds on the very edge of the river bank. Is it going to make it?! we all were wondering. Nope, it rolled off, into the water, and then on down the stream. At the moment I threw my shoe, Elian was in the process of crossing the river, which turned out to be a bit more difficult than it looked. She was petrified, stuck in the middle, my shoe was floating down the river - who to save first?

Luckily (pure luck!), my shoe got caught on a rock, and did not go very far. I have NO idea what I would have done if I had lost my shoe, especially after experiencing the hours of hiking to follow.

The boys said, might as well just walk across in both your shoes since one´s already soaking, and it sure is slippery and dangerous in there, so that´s what I did. So I emerged on the other side, pants hitched up around my thighs, feet drenched and FREEZING. This is glacier water, after all. We sat there on the other side for several minutes, laughing, hugging, drying off.

Then Elian said, Let´s have a vodka. Let´s have a vodka? I said. What does that mean? You know, she said, let´s have a vodka. You mean let´s take a shot? Do we have vodka? And then, little German Peter-Pedro pulled a water bottle full of clear liquid from his backpack and smiled. It´s from my best friends, the Russians, he said. We´ll mix it with water! (I wish you could hear him. His accent is so thick, and his English is fairly bad, so I just adored talking to him.)

A (teeny tiny) sip of vodka later, we were on our way. It was 5:30 PM when we finally left the rio, and none of us knew exactly how much further it was to this new refugio. (That, of course, is where the sun going down at 9:30 PM is very helpful.) I think we all were feeling relieved to have crossed the river - oh, the worst is behind us now. But within minutes, we were staring out across this huge field of just marshy muck. I stopped feeling so completely stupid about my soaking shoes because by the time we got through the muck, everyone´s feet were soaked. There was just no way through but to just step in it. Or, if you tried to avoid it, chances were good that you were going to lose your balance and then REALLY be covered with mud.

Once out of the marsh, it was straight up, about two hours, to the Paso de las Nubes. Our guide book said that there was a campground nestled in a valley, about an hour after the Pass, but we were growing skeptical. Feet were wet and muddy and tired. We were all just done. When we finally emerged out of the forest, we saw a huge glacier to our left, a beautiful valley down below with a river running through, and a steep, rocky descent down. What we didn´t see was a refugio or a campground. We all knew that if nothing else, we could certainly just camp out down in the valley somewhere, but I think we were all hoping, praying, for that refugio to magically appear.

And it did!

About halfway down the mountain, I heard Elian say, I see a human being! (We had seen no one else since our descent from Otto Meiling). And sure enough, there was a woman in a red skirt, just sitting down in this little clearing in the trees. Bizzare! But wonderful. She stood up to welcome us as we came down, and just a few feet behind here was an impromptu refugio - just a few large tents - hiding down in the trees.

We were the only campers there that night, which was just fine with us. Elian and I set up our things in the "dormitorio" which was just a big tent full of thin sleeping mats, and Peter and Phillipe set up a tent outside. Then we had a beer (courtesy of the refugio, of course), and got busy cooking dinner - risotto with sausage - on Elian and Phillipe´s little burner. That night was just such a happy night - for all of us, I think. We had had such a long, funny, hard, frustrating, exhilarating day. And finally, we were rewarded. Take the shoes off, put on the flip flops, comb the hair, change shirts, sit down, take in the beauty of the surroundings, watch the stars, enjoy the company of your friends. Peter said, This is happiness. The simple things. And I couldn´t have agreed more. Food and friends and beauty.

I slept like a rock that night. Elian said she was still talking to me, as she was getting ready to bed, but I was just gone. Nothing like exhausted sleep, is there?

The next morning, we made coffee, had some bread with dulce de leche, and set off for Puerto Frias, around 10:45 AM. The woman at the refugio said the hike to Puerto Frias was anywhere between 2 and 5 hours, our boat was leaving at 3:30, so we wanted to make sure we had plenty of time. Yesterday´s hike was hard on us all, I think. Physically, bodies were tired and muscles were aching. Mentally, we were all still recovering from the day before. And the path we had to take yesterday was almost entirely muddy puddles with sticks laid across, as some form of help through. So the whole day was spent standing at the edge of a puddle, trying to decide what the best footing was, balancing on sticks, falling into puddles, laughing, groaning. By the time we FINALLY emerge to Puerto Frias, after a little over four hours, we were all splattered in mud from the knee down. Each one of us had slipped into the mud at least once (some of us, more than once...me and Elian).

We walked up to Puerto Frias, just a dock, a few directional signs, a bathroom, and a kiosco, sat ourselves down, took off our shoes, had a fizzie. After about twenty minutes, a boat pulled up (not ours, as it turned out), full of tourists. After three days of hiking, these tourists seemed to me just about as bad as they get. They got off the boat for five minutes, hats on heads, cameras around necks, look at this, look at that, take a picture, get back on the boat. What on earth were they taking pictures of? I have no idea. There was nothing at Puerto Frias. We were all filthy, of course, without a shower in three days, and I just felt like those tourists were another species entirely. Not part of my family.

We finally got onto our boat around 4:45 PM, and it was also full of tourists (including one American lady that I wanted to tell to SHUT UP), but that was just fine. Twenty minutes on the boat, ten minutes on a bus to Puerto Blest, an hour wait at Puerto Blest, then 1.5 hours on another boat to Bariloche. It was around 8 PM or so by the time we got in. Phew! What a weekend. We parted, showered, and then regrouped for a big steak dinner.

Elian and Phillipe and Peter all left early this morning for Puerto Montt, Chile, where they are then going separate ways. I will probably manage to meet up with them all at some point along the way, as they´re all traveling for the next few months, but who knows. But I am so thankful to have known them all and to have spent such a weekend in their company. They are all fantastic.

I have spent almost all of today working on my pictures and on this post. I am now going to go do a little shopping for some new gear for my jaunt to Chalten on Friday. I think it´s time for some new hiking shoes. And then I am going to go for a long walk because my legs are incredibly sore, and I think some stretching them out will do them some good.

And, if you have actually read all of this, I will reward you with pictures of the weekend, so you can see everything I described. It was an amazing weekend. Time of my life. http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy

Chica Rota, No More

I am free! Free of my cement arm.

The trip to the hospital on Wednesday was mostly uneventful. I was accompanied again by Matias, the activities guy, who was supposed to stay with me and help translate and make me feel less terrified. Matias, however, always has somewhere better to be, so he dumped me at the hospital, saying he´d be "right back...you´re going to have to wait at least an hour..." Of course, ten minutes after he left, I was called in, face to face with el medico, who speaks no English.

I should go ahead and give myself a pat on the back for getting through this confrontation with the doctor by myself. My Spanish is far from perfect, but I do now know that it is functional. I cannot understand everything, but I can get the gist, and the doctor and I were able to communicate, more or less, just fine. And that was the whole point of these classes! Bien!

The whole thing was very informal. The doctor plopped my arm down on his desk, then walked over to his big black bag of scary doctor things and pulled out this enormous pair of scissors, basically. It was a cross between a wrench and a pair of scissors, and it did not look very nice. I was expecting one of those rotating blades. Something electrical. But oh, that´s right, I am in Argentina. Scary, big scissors for me. He then went about just scissoring through my cast, one big bite at a time. Seemed like it took quite a bit of physical effort on his part, so at least I know where my $15 went.

(On the subject of things not electrical, I went bowling last night - just to watch and socialize - and at the end of each lane, behind the pins, was an employee, whose job was to wait until the ball had rolled down to him and then to set the pins back up, one by one, and send the ball back down the lane! Incredible. There was like a big mat behind the pins, serving as a buffer for the bowling balls, protecting the pin-setter-upper. I wonder how much that guy makes per hour.)

When my arm was finally set free, I tried bending, moving, stretching, and my initial thought was, "Ohhhhh no." It hurt. And quite a lot. In very much the same way that it hurt when it went into the cast. The doctor told me it was normal to have pain and some swelling, but I was feeling very skeptical, as it did not just feel stiff. It hurt.

The doctor also told me that I needed 10 sessions of physical therapy and that I needed to stay in Bariloche for 15 days more. WHAT? I said. WHAT?!

Of course, the bright side is that I am a free agent, and I don´t have to listen to the doctor if I don´t want to. And in this case, I don´t want to. I am not paying for 10 sessions of someone telling me to move my arm up and down and around, and I am not staying in Bariloche for 2 more weeks. Lo siento! I have been abnormally patient with all of this roto brazo business, but it´s time to hit the road (not with my arm, of course).

Before anyone (father, mother) gets worried, I should say that after much fretting, I woke up yesterday with much less pain in my arm, and less again this morning. I think it´s just a matter of working the kinks out. My arm has been stuck in a 90 degree angle for two weeks, so I shouldn´t expect it to want to do much for a few days. So I am listening to my inner voice on this one and not to the doctor. Let´s just hope my inner voice is not just speaking out of frustration and stubborness (though I know that it is). In all seriousness, there are doctors all over Argentina, so it just doesn´t seem necessary to stay here.

So. I am going to take it easy on the arm. Not do any heavy lifting or anything. But I am heading on down the road.


Tomorrow morning, I am going on a three day trek with a few friends to Mount Tronador, which is an old volcano about 50 miles west of here, close to the border of Chile. We take a short bus tomorrow to Pampa Linda, and then have about four hours worth of hiking tomorrow, up to Refugio Otto Meiling, where we will spend the night. Then Sunday morning, we have about 7 hours of hiking to Mount Tronador, where we will camp out. Monday, afternoon, we come back to Bariloche, via a combination of boat and bus. I will then have Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday to do whatever else I want to do in and around Bariloche, before heading off to Chalten on Friday.

Today was my last day of classes. I actually ended up having to switch classes mid-week because my first class was a bit miserable. I had been stuck in the only afternoon class because there were 8 of us to be in 2A, and there´s a limit of 6 people per class. The mornings are far more desirable, but since me and my arm couldn´t really do anything with our afternoons anyway, I guess the school staff thought it would be easiest for me to make the sacrifice. So we were divided, 6 in the morning and 2 in the afternoon. Not exactly even.

Normally, being in a class with just one other person would be great, because you get so much more attention from the teacher and so much more practice speaking. But I was stuck with my friend Eric, who, well, is quite the defeatist when it comes to Spanish. Perhaps he is a defeatist about all things, I don´t know. But he was MISERABLE to be in class with. He a) puts forth no effort b) slumps in his chair c) mumbles things under his breath d) speaks in English at all times or e) when attempting Spanish sounds completely like a gringo - no attempt at an accent whatsoever. Our teacher didn´t speak English, but he kept speaking English to her like an idiot. Ugh. It made me so mad! Try! No one is forcing you to be here.

Anyway, luckily, it was obvious to the teachers that Eric and I were not at the same level, and there was a girl in the morning class who was far behind the others, so we made a nice little switch, and the rest of the week was great.

It has been raining here today - actually the first time since I have been here that it´s rained during the day. Two thunderstorms at night, but otherwise, blue skies. Anyway, feels like a perfect opportunity for a long siesta! We are having a party tonight at a profesor´s house, so I need to rest up! Have a great weekend, everyone. Will be back on Monday or Tuesday to tell you about Mount Tronador!