Today I took my first ever sky dive. One of the best experiences of my life. At first we didn’t think that we would get the chance to do it as the forcast the night before was threatening all day rains which would have prevented the plane from taking off. But thankfully when we woke up, the sun was out and the jump was on. The jump was in Toupon, half way down the north island, on the mainland, over the spectacular lake Toupon (the biggest lake in the country). It was a 12,000 tandem drop with a 15 second free fall and a 4 minute whirling parachute descent. The way it worked was you turned up on the day and got measured up very quickly and then put on your Beasty Boy jump fit. You got a Biggles hat with goggles and got introduced to the instructor you would be tied on to. Unexpectedly, that was it before we got into the microplane. I thought we would be told what to do when jumping out of the plane and what to do when landing, but none of this happened. All of this either took place in the tiny plane or in the air when the parachute was opened. Overall, there was little to do, the instructors almost had total control of everything. All we had to do was bend our knees back and lift them up to our chest and then start running when we landed.
The moments before the jump were good viewing. Its amazing seeing peoples reactions before leaping out of a plane: fear, trepidation, excitment. The free fall was the peak. All I can remember is a sense a joy and excitement mixed in with a cold sensation on my face and hands and the rushing of air all over my body. A bit like when you stick ypur face out the window of a car going 100miles an hour. Try it if you want to know what a free fall feels like. I shouted all the way down before the parachute exploded open and made its ways to the stars. At 200km an hour you feel like you are being shot out of a gun. The force is tremendous.The skin on your face lifts and you clearly sense that you are hurtling to the ground in a surreal situation. For me there was also a moment of smiles when I thought of what I was doing. Flying. It was a feeling of happiness. A feeling of appreciation and respect. Man through ingenuity and creativity has learned to defy its environment and learned to conquer it in many ways. Some day we will live on another planet. Of that i have no doubts.
After the jump we all made our way on a six hour car ride to Wellington. Next stop is all about ferry rides to the south island and making our way down to the Franz Joseph Glacier and the formidable and striking Mount Cook. If it is anything like the last two days on the north island it will be heaps of fun.
Friday, November 26, 2004
Clouds, Legs and Baaahs
Getting to Auckland involved watching Spiderman 2, The Terminal, knocking back a few Chilean beers and 13 hours. I didn’t sleep. I tried but simply couldn’t. I left on the 17th of November but arrived on the 19th. The date line is guaranteed to throw your biological clock in a head spin. The first two days in Auckland were all about chilling out and acclimatising. The jetlag was the roughest I have ever experienced. I might try the tablets the next time. Home was one of the biggest backpacking hostels on the planet - the massive, 600 bed, recruitment agency, travel agency consisting Auckland Central Backpackers. The place was so big it even had its own massive backpacking bar. For those that go beware of the elevators. They are nearest thing I have ever seen to a mechanical Venus fly trap. I almost lost a leg and an ear. You have two seconds to get in when the doors open if you want to avoid injury. Weird. The staff thought it was hilarious. In Auckland I hooked up with Lisa and Ann, my friends from Sweden, Jason and Yvonne my Scottish mates from Dublin and my bro, Joseph, who decided to pay his little brother a two week flying visit from the Emerald Isle.
Like any big brother should do he is splashing put a little on his little bro and the life of the Irish Rambling Vagabond and his hairy hounds has gone up more levels of comfort then there is stairs in the classy Auckland Sky Tower. Alas, it has all been top hotels, Sky TV, big booted, rented, fast cars with U2s new album banging a tune or two (like tracks 1,2,3, and 8).
Today was all about grade 5 water rafting. An excellent, high octane, adrenalin water roller coaster. Highly recommended. We went for a tour company called Kaituna Adventures. A serious crew of guides, all looking like something out of Point Break. Dreads, mochicans, six packs and tattoos everywhere. And all with cool names like: Clunk, Wade, Knarl and Fang. One of the guides was a massive 16 stone, body building, blond mochican wearing, hulk-like giant Mauri. Absolutely huge. I can only imagine was John Alomo and Jake the Muck looks like in the flesh.
The rafting expedition we went for was the deepest immersion rafting experience in the world. 1 hour, 3 waterfalls (one of which was a massive 7 meter drop) and 14 rapids over steep, narrow, canyons of brown water. We started off with a Mauri prayer asking the ancient warriors that were buried in the river’s banks for safe passage. In each raft was two guides and six or seven others. To start with we passed the tree of death successfully, we then had to clunk oars off the lucky tree and then after learning a few life saving techniques headed out into the rapids. I was at point with one of the instructors which was great fun. It meant a little more paddling and a little bit more water in the face. But to hell it with it, I was up for it. The highlight of the trip was a massive 7 metre drop which immersed the entire raft. Check out the photos to see how difficult it was. The raft directly in front of us capsized when they went over but fortunately we got through it upright. Amazing feeling going over the top knowing that you're definitely going to be submerged and not knowing if the boat is going to land on you. It was one of the quickest hours of my life. Really enjoyable and well worth the sixty odd euros we coughed up to do it. The vagabond recommends it..
Like any big brother should do he is splashing put a little on his little bro and the life of the Irish Rambling Vagabond and his hairy hounds has gone up more levels of comfort then there is stairs in the classy Auckland Sky Tower. Alas, it has all been top hotels, Sky TV, big booted, rented, fast cars with U2s new album banging a tune or two (like tracks 1,2,3, and 8).
Today was all about grade 5 water rafting. An excellent, high octane, adrenalin water roller coaster. Highly recommended. We went for a tour company called Kaituna Adventures. A serious crew of guides, all looking like something out of Point Break. Dreads, mochicans, six packs and tattoos everywhere. And all with cool names like: Clunk, Wade, Knarl and Fang. One of the guides was a massive 16 stone, body building, blond mochican wearing, hulk-like giant Mauri. Absolutely huge. I can only imagine was John Alomo and Jake the Muck looks like in the flesh.
The rafting expedition we went for was the deepest immersion rafting experience in the world. 1 hour, 3 waterfalls (one of which was a massive 7 meter drop) and 14 rapids over steep, narrow, canyons of brown water. We started off with a Mauri prayer asking the ancient warriors that were buried in the river’s banks for safe passage. In each raft was two guides and six or seven others. To start with we passed the tree of death successfully, we then had to clunk oars off the lucky tree and then after learning a few life saving techniques headed out into the rapids. I was at point with one of the instructors which was great fun. It meant a little more paddling and a little bit more water in the face. But to hell it with it, I was up for it. The highlight of the trip was a massive 7 metre drop which immersed the entire raft. Check out the photos to see how difficult it was. The raft directly in front of us capsized when they went over but fortunately we got through it upright. Amazing feeling going over the top knowing that you're definitely going to be submerged and not knowing if the boat is going to land on you. It was one of the quickest hours of my life. Really enjoyable and well worth the sixty odd euros we coughed up to do it. The vagabond recommends it..
Mecca Mendoza
Mendoza is one of Argentina’s biggest and most elegant cities. It is inhabited by over one million Argentines, is located half way down the country, on the western border, almost touching Chile and is closely linked to Santa in the north, Cordoba in the east and Bariloche in the south.
Mendoza is a backpackers Mecca. The city is interesting, expertly planned out and adorned with a very low sky line with a mixture of modern and colonial architecture. Prices are extremely low and tour, food, transport and accommodation quality is high. The people are friendly. Smiles are as obvious as the clouds in the sky, they're the common currency of welcome everywhere you go and are high and wide as the massive 7000m Aconcagua only a few hours bus journey away. I fell in love with the place. Sometimes you just get a feeling! After making my windy way through the multitude of serpentine hair pins from Santiago and across the Andes I got that feeling when entering the city: wide side walks, tree-lined streets with hanging branches and oodles of cool restaurants, bars and Internet cafes. Also on show was a healthy selection of markets selling all types of handmade objects: blankets, hats, key rings, dolls, dog belts, hacky sacks, stones, face masks, the lot. The parks were very cool. Inside were soccer pitches, steam boats, marble statues and excellently tendered flower formations. And let’s not forget the cities justified reputation as having some of the most beautiful people in the world!!!
Mendoza also equals wine. Fine wine. World acclaimed wine. Melbec. I’ve decided I won’t tell you about the vineyards and the excellent conditions and techniques that they have for producing their world famous produce. To do so properly would take many hours. All I shall say is for those that like their wine I can assure you that for a strong, full bodied, oak tinted bottle of red that would do justice to a good spag bolo or a nice medium rare fillet of steak try one of Argentina’s Melbec range. I personally can recommend some of the bottles from the excellent Lopez vineyards.
Home for the 10 days in Mecca was Campo Base. The cheapest hostel I have been in on my rambling at an embarrassingly cheap 2.50 euros a night. Also the only hostel I have ever been where the have triple beds. Forget bunk beds. On these things you climb up that ladder another notch. Fortunately, I got the second bunk so the climb wasn’t too high and just about manageable at 4am in the morning after a day’s hike and a bottle of top notch vino. The place had great staff, a cool lounge and a more than adequate kitchen. Beside its mixture of tranquillity and ostensible beauty, Mendoza also offers a wide variety of adventure sports. In Campo Base they had an activity organised for everyday. On offer was (1) trekking rappelling and hot springs (2) the high mountain hike (which was a vast to Aconcagua Park and the old town bridge) (3) mountain biking and hot springs (4) vineyards tour (5) rafting (grade 3) (6) hitting the town and get absolutely hammered on Melbec wine and vodka, and (7) hitting the town and getting absolutely ossified on Melbec wine and whiskey. I tried them all with the exception of rafting as it was only a baby grade 2/3, and the mountain biking, which I had done my far share of in Bariloche.
On the sports front the best day for me was the day that myself and a very cool Australian dude called Patrick went bare hand sheer-cliff rock climbing. The type of rock climbing where you see a wiry, brave semi-clad soul setting off at the end of a mountain, harness on, hands free and a pouch of white chalk hanging from his hip. I’ve never tried it before. It was exhausting and physically very demanding but I loved it. The climbing was a grade 5-10 which s basically a mid range cliff face with average difficulty. The pros I believe do up to a grade 7 and novices like me should usually start in the 4s.
The face we attempted was a 30 metre high granite wall that ranged from between 80 degrees to 120 degrees in curvature. It had sparse hand grips and only a modicum of foots rests. It had little are no vegetation and was quite slippery. Patrick went first. He had done it before in Canada and had all his own equipment so it was a great help for me watching how he approached the cliff. We were not alone and our guide for the day was there to hold the fall rope and offer us advice in broken English and Spanish.
Climbing is a mixture of flexibility, power and cunning. It lends itself highly to problem solving, something I never appreciated until I was facing a foot-hand grip conundrum at 20 meters up. You literally have to think on your fingers not your feet! When hanging on your fingers you quickly learn how to access possible routes up or down. There s always the knowledge in the back of your head that you can at anytime give up and sit back at your ease in your harness and either have another go at a certain grip or swing to another side of the face to try another route. But there is also the knowledge that to do so is failure. While comforting knowing that the safety harness is always there, the primal animal in me, resigned itself not to use it unless absolutely necessary. The challenge for me was going as high as I could as efficiently as I could, slowly if necessary - but without assistance. To do so I visualised that I was alone, without equipment, without anyone, completely on my tod, in a must find out situation. What proved to be very helpful was I imagined that at every impasse I met, Brutos and Eusebius had been kidnapped by a heinous fiend who had taken them away from me, muzzled them, and was dangling them menacingly over the cliff head above me. Just about to throw them to their doom unless I could get to the top to rescue them. This nightmare image drove me forward and pumped the necessary adrenalin into my arteries to make thinking on my fingers a little crisper and sharper than thinking in my feet. It also gave me superhuman strength. After about 30 dogged minutes of climbing, multiple hand and foot grips and tons of contortions, screeches and reaches I met a stubborn cliff face with an impossible one hand grip to far to my left and a foot grip that a Anakin Skywalker would find hard to get to. I thought of the dogs and used all my powers to try figure out a solution. Nothing. I called on the force. Nothing. I asked the Gods for divine intervention. Nothing. After thinking for a minute or two and after careful recollecting of months of Brasilian meat and beer and a far share of Argentina wines I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t do it. In that resignation there was a kind of strange calm, serenity. Almost 20 metres up I felt peace on the side of a Argentinean granite face. I had tried, and tried well. But no biscuit. Not even a dog bone. I decided enough was enough. If it was my destiny not to see the dogs again until I saw them in the big white puffy kennels in the sky, so be it.
After the sheer face climbing our guide brought us to a 8 metre high suspension bridge that looked something straight out of an Indian Jones movies. Dodgy rods holding it together on each side. Really shaky and squeaky planks of wood for footing and a big copper wire to place hands. For about 10 minutes we got the chance to hang from the bridge and jump into the ice water before. We gathered quite a bit of attention from some of the passer bys. Some of which couldn’t resist taking a few snaps of us in action. It was great fun and reminded me of jumping off the rocks in the Guillemene cove, near Tramore back in Waterford, Ireland. Happy days.
Mendoza is a backpackers Mecca. The city is interesting, expertly planned out and adorned with a very low sky line with a mixture of modern and colonial architecture. Prices are extremely low and tour, food, transport and accommodation quality is high. The people are friendly. Smiles are as obvious as the clouds in the sky, they're the common currency of welcome everywhere you go and are high and wide as the massive 7000m Aconcagua only a few hours bus journey away. I fell in love with the place. Sometimes you just get a feeling! After making my windy way through the multitude of serpentine hair pins from Santiago and across the Andes I got that feeling when entering the city: wide side walks, tree-lined streets with hanging branches and oodles of cool restaurants, bars and Internet cafes. Also on show was a healthy selection of markets selling all types of handmade objects: blankets, hats, key rings, dolls, dog belts, hacky sacks, stones, face masks, the lot. The parks were very cool. Inside were soccer pitches, steam boats, marble statues and excellently tendered flower formations. And let’s not forget the cities justified reputation as having some of the most beautiful people in the world!!!
Mendoza also equals wine. Fine wine. World acclaimed wine. Melbec. I’ve decided I won’t tell you about the vineyards and the excellent conditions and techniques that they have for producing their world famous produce. To do so properly would take many hours. All I shall say is for those that like their wine I can assure you that for a strong, full bodied, oak tinted bottle of red that would do justice to a good spag bolo or a nice medium rare fillet of steak try one of Argentina’s Melbec range. I personally can recommend some of the bottles from the excellent Lopez vineyards.
Home for the 10 days in Mecca was Campo Base. The cheapest hostel I have been in on my rambling at an embarrassingly cheap 2.50 euros a night. Also the only hostel I have ever been where the have triple beds. Forget bunk beds. On these things you climb up that ladder another notch. Fortunately, I got the second bunk so the climb wasn’t too high and just about manageable at 4am in the morning after a day’s hike and a bottle of top notch vino. The place had great staff, a cool lounge and a more than adequate kitchen. Beside its mixture of tranquillity and ostensible beauty, Mendoza also offers a wide variety of adventure sports. In Campo Base they had an activity organised for everyday. On offer was (1) trekking rappelling and hot springs (2) the high mountain hike (which was a vast to Aconcagua Park and the old town bridge) (3) mountain biking and hot springs (4) vineyards tour (5) rafting (grade 3) (6) hitting the town and get absolutely hammered on Melbec wine and vodka, and (7) hitting the town and getting absolutely ossified on Melbec wine and whiskey. I tried them all with the exception of rafting as it was only a baby grade 2/3, and the mountain biking, which I had done my far share of in Bariloche.
On the sports front the best day for me was the day that myself and a very cool Australian dude called Patrick went bare hand sheer-cliff rock climbing. The type of rock climbing where you see a wiry, brave semi-clad soul setting off at the end of a mountain, harness on, hands free and a pouch of white chalk hanging from his hip. I’ve never tried it before. It was exhausting and physically very demanding but I loved it. The climbing was a grade 5-10 which s basically a mid range cliff face with average difficulty. The pros I believe do up to a grade 7 and novices like me should usually start in the 4s.
The face we attempted was a 30 metre high granite wall that ranged from between 80 degrees to 120 degrees in curvature. It had sparse hand grips and only a modicum of foots rests. It had little are no vegetation and was quite slippery. Patrick went first. He had done it before in Canada and had all his own equipment so it was a great help for me watching how he approached the cliff. We were not alone and our guide for the day was there to hold the fall rope and offer us advice in broken English and Spanish.
Climbing is a mixture of flexibility, power and cunning. It lends itself highly to problem solving, something I never appreciated until I was facing a foot-hand grip conundrum at 20 meters up. You literally have to think on your fingers not your feet! When hanging on your fingers you quickly learn how to access possible routes up or down. There s always the knowledge in the back of your head that you can at anytime give up and sit back at your ease in your harness and either have another go at a certain grip or swing to another side of the face to try another route. But there is also the knowledge that to do so is failure. While comforting knowing that the safety harness is always there, the primal animal in me, resigned itself not to use it unless absolutely necessary. The challenge for me was going as high as I could as efficiently as I could, slowly if necessary - but without assistance. To do so I visualised that I was alone, without equipment, without anyone, completely on my tod, in a must find out situation. What proved to be very helpful was I imagined that at every impasse I met, Brutos and Eusebius had been kidnapped by a heinous fiend who had taken them away from me, muzzled them, and was dangling them menacingly over the cliff head above me. Just about to throw them to their doom unless I could get to the top to rescue them. This nightmare image drove me forward and pumped the necessary adrenalin into my arteries to make thinking on my fingers a little crisper and sharper than thinking in my feet. It also gave me superhuman strength. After about 30 dogged minutes of climbing, multiple hand and foot grips and tons of contortions, screeches and reaches I met a stubborn cliff face with an impossible one hand grip to far to my left and a foot grip that a Anakin Skywalker would find hard to get to. I thought of the dogs and used all my powers to try figure out a solution. Nothing. I called on the force. Nothing. I asked the Gods for divine intervention. Nothing. After thinking for a minute or two and after careful recollecting of months of Brasilian meat and beer and a far share of Argentina wines I resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t do it. In that resignation there was a kind of strange calm, serenity. Almost 20 metres up I felt peace on the side of a Argentinean granite face. I had tried, and tried well. But no biscuit. Not even a dog bone. I decided enough was enough. If it was my destiny not to see the dogs again until I saw them in the big white puffy kennels in the sky, so be it.
After the sheer face climbing our guide brought us to a 8 metre high suspension bridge that looked something straight out of an Indian Jones movies. Dodgy rods holding it together on each side. Really shaky and squeaky planks of wood for footing and a big copper wire to place hands. For about 10 minutes we got the chance to hang from the bridge and jump into the ice water before. We gathered quite a bit of attention from some of the passer bys. Some of which couldn’t resist taking a few snaps of us in action. It was great fun and reminded me of jumping off the rocks in the Guillemene cove, near Tramore back in Waterford, Ireland. Happy days.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Santiago
Got in and got out as quick as i could. Don´t go there. Reminded me of the smog ridden, claminess and disorganisation of Lima. Spent a couple of nights and then made my way over the amazing valleys of the Andes and into the diametrically oppossed, breath of fresh air -Mendoza. Will be here for a week.
Volcanoes and Vineyards
Last few days have been marked by many new experiences.Ive learned a hell of a lot about the Andes, volcanoes, ice climbing, wine cultivating techniques, french and U.S. oak barrel making and how to spot a good wine from an imposter.
Last week in Bariloche Argentina was all about checking out lakes. Their beauty exceeds their reputation. From there a Fiat Puma was rented and I drove across the Andes and into Chile. The day had all four seasons: gentle but lenghty snow falls to stone splitting sun rays and rainbows.
Chile has the straightest and best roads i have ever seen. You literally could fall asleep at the wheel and keep driving for 10 minutes,at 100 miles an hour, without worrying about hitting anything or anyone(a motorbike enthusiasts heaven). The lansdcape is head swinging and window rolling. Similar verdant greens to Ireland, deep and light browns in the mountains and regularly exposed soils on the ubiquitos farms, vineyards and forests that hug the famous route 5 from south to north, and, also a wealth of lakes with a spectrum of blues that a professional oil painter would have difficulty naming.
After receiving some advice in the hostel patagonia we decided to head for Poucan, a famous sking and hiking village. While 450km away, the road trip paid dividends. Sleepy little fairy town, infested with log cabins, huts and 4x4s bringing ski boards, canoes and hiking equipment around its narrow streets and mountain passes. The show piece of the town for me was not the geothermic in and outdoor hot springs but Volcano Villarrica.
Here´s the conversation and sales pitch that made me climb her:
"Ola, como esta...entra, sentar aquai"
"Ola, que tal?"
"Tudo azul"
"Speak English, iºm still working on the Spanish."
"Sure."
"Cool.Thanks, right, im here about the volcano, can you give me some information about it, can i climb it tomorrow, how much does it cost, equipment? etc."
"Sure, the last four days its been called off due to bad weather but tomorrow we go. Let me tell you a little bit about her. Villarrica is an open system basaltic volcano with a long historic record that includes four fatal eruptions. Its 2847m high and always covered in snow and ice. The first historic eruption was recorded in 1558. Since then, there have been at least 54 small to moderate eruptions. There have been two moderate-large eruptions in 1640 and 1948. Mudfows, associated with eruptions, killed a total of at least 73 people in 1949, 1963, 1964, and 1971. The mudflows of 1971 were caused by lava flows that melted ice. Many homes and agricultural installations were destroyed in the Chaillupen and Turbio Valleys. Concrete bridges across major bridges were also cut. About 350 people were killed in Villarrica village by a tectonic earthquake in 1575. Takes 6 hours to get up in full alpine equipment, and an hour to get down sliding on your ass. We kick off at 7am, and....."
"Hold your pick there boss, is it safe these days.."
"Im holding my what?"
"Forget it. Is it safe to climb now. 2004. Safe. No accidents. No problemmass"
"Sure. No problemmmaaaas. Its active but nothing is going to happen. We have all the necessary scientific equipment to tell if anythig is going to happen. Let me continue, you pay the national park entry fee of....where you from?"
"Ireland."
"Ireand, i love that place. Guinness. U2."
"Yeah."
"That would be euros than?"
"Yeah."
"You pay 30 euros for the tour, 5 euros in, another 3 euros for the 10 minute cable car, and then take the climb..... Are you a big soppy-woppy-fluffy-bunny and [OUT] or you a green, white and gold lion and [IN]?"
"Ill give you 25 for the tour."
"Ha ha ha ha"
"Ok, ill give you 26, right now and im in, cash"
"29"
"26.5"
"Ha ha ha ha... 29"
"27"
"28.5"
"Im a green white and gold, and very cold, 12 pack, supersonic celtic fox, and........ [In]!"
"What?"
"Ask your ice pick"
"Pablo, we have another crazy Irish man going up the volcano."
The climb took 5 hours and was tuff. We put on the spikes on our boots half way up, and dug into the ice and ascended in zig zag fashion. Very physically demanding but exhilorting. Quite a few turned around and decided not to do it. Visibility was poor and goggels were essential. On more than one occassion visibility dropped to 5 meters when the wind picked up, and changed direction and blew the top layer of granular snow in our path. The top was impressive. Big crater with snow running down into its heart and white bellowing sulpher clouds rushing up with huge shouts and belchs of lava thundering into the air from the lava rivers below. The view from the top was non existant; too much sulpher. Very uncomfortable to be honest. After lots of coughing and a few singed faces we quickly headed back 100m from the apex and then headed down, literally sliding all the way on our ass watching the snow baords and skiers doing their stuff. Good fun and a great experience.
After the volcano, jumped in the panda, let out a few obscenities on hearing 56million Americans let Bush get in for a 2nd term and headed another 400km north to Corico and the vineyards. After a very heavy baby-like sleep went to two vineyards. The first was San Pedro and the second was the Torres Estate. My first true education in fine wines. Learned loads and sampled loads while marvelling at the amazing Andes panaramoic background and throwing my eyes across miles and miles of military precision rows of vines. Ended up buying a bottle of Motlin 2002, from Sao Pedro, which i think i will go and open now. Actually, i think thats a splendid idea. Stop the keyboard tapping and start the wine swirling, tongue curling, colour and nose hurling.
Monday, November 01, 2004
The Lake District
Location: Bariloche
Temp: 5 degrees, cold and windy.
I’m writing this blog from the Hotel-Inn Hostel in Bariloche, Patagonia. It consists of a log cabin, 10km away from the nearest city and civilisation, a small pebbled beach (that leads onto one of the coldest lakes I have ever had the pleasure to swim in) and there are two young labradors looking after the giant garden to the rear. One of which has an injured paw and keeps following me every time I set foot outside.
The dogs are loving it here and have bonded immediately with the two incumbent hounds. We are booked in to stay here until Tuesday, but Eusebius has begged me to stay longer. He can’t get enough of the open air, crystal water, snow tinted mountain valleys and the rich variety of flora. I think they both must be communicating freely again ‘cause Brutos came up and asked if we could also extend our stay. I’m travelling with a cool English girl called Claire and we have agreed to rent a car on Tuesday to do the 7 lakes tour, hit Chile for 4 days and then drop the car off in Mendoza, so it might be difficult pushing the boat out for another day. I told them we’ll see. As ever there just isn’t enough time to do everything. It’s one of the rambling conundrums that ramblers have. You get somewhere, start learning about it, want to check it out, and realise there simply isn’t enough time, so you do what you can. It’s usually hit the main attractions and then if you’re lucky pick off one or two of the others. I might be able to wrangle an extra day here. It will be worth it if I can. There is so much to see: hand gliding, canoeing, diving, serious bike riding and a huge choice of hikes of varying difficultly.
Yesterday was different. I set off to conquer one of the local mountains, mount Frey. It is a 2000m high peak with a small lake on top and a very small hostel with a one man cook-electrician-ski boarding-handyman McGuiver-like Argentina legend called Marcus looking after the place. Not only did he bake a lovely fresh loaf when I was there but he also whipped up magical spag bol for 2euros. Getting to the hostel was demanding. 10km up and 10km down. The terrain varied in difficulty and constitution. It started with your normal forest like scenario that you would get back home. After about 2km it changed dramatically into a flat plain with sporadic streams flowing down from the ice cap above. All around the plain was old grey dead trees. Trees that looked as if they had been hit my a merciless pesticide. Very strange when you turned the corner and went from a fecundity of fertile bright green and brown colours to be hit with weak straw grass and grey dead bark. After about 5km the trail started its ascent. It consisted of some wooden bridges over some small but aggressive rivers and waterfalls and then a lot of bramble and open earthed roots from big giant trees. It was difficult to climb but not as difficult as what lay ahead the last 2k. Mostly rock, mud, bog and finally ankle height snow. Because the trail wasn’t marked too well I got lost on the wrong path for half an hour but I eventually got back on track and made it up to the top after a few handfuls of snow to eat.
The night I thought was going to be calm and relaxed as there was only one Italian man and two English girls in the hut. But I was wrong. At about 9pm 50. Yes 50 Argentian students between the age of 12 and 14 popped out of the snow or beamed themselves from an orbiting spaceship onto the top of the mountain. All of a sudden paradise on the top of mount Frey turned into a tent infested school room where yours truly was interviwed by at least 15 curious oogling kids giving me the Spanish inquisition in broken English and teaching me how to name all the utensils on a kitchen table in Spanish. Not exactly what I expected but a good laugh and a strange place and strange way to learn how to say knife, fork, spoon and butter in Spainish.
On the Spanish front, it is pleasantly very similar to Portuguese. Thankfully I didn’t have to start from scratch to learn a new language. I can confidently say that Portuguese is a much more difficult to learn. The phonetics are far more complex and the use of nasal sounds are more prevalent. Having said that Spanish pronunciations are also difficult. So far I’ve learned that the “v” sounds like a “b” and the “j” sounds like a “h” and the unusual double L “ll” sounds like “ya”. While attempting to speak Spanish it has been difficult resisting throwing in the odd Portuguese word. I more than often do and fortunately usually they understand what I am trying to say. I’d love another two months here. I reckon with 3 months here I’d have strong conversational skills.
So there you have, the south Americal leg is almost over.
Temp: 5 degrees, cold and windy.
I’m writing this blog from the Hotel-Inn Hostel in Bariloche, Patagonia. It consists of a log cabin, 10km away from the nearest city and civilisation, a small pebbled beach (that leads onto one of the coldest lakes I have ever had the pleasure to swim in) and there are two young labradors looking after the giant garden to the rear. One of which has an injured paw and keeps following me every time I set foot outside.
The dogs are loving it here and have bonded immediately with the two incumbent hounds. We are booked in to stay here until Tuesday, but Eusebius has begged me to stay longer. He can’t get enough of the open air, crystal water, snow tinted mountain valleys and the rich variety of flora. I think they both must be communicating freely again ‘cause Brutos came up and asked if we could also extend our stay. I’m travelling with a cool English girl called Claire and we have agreed to rent a car on Tuesday to do the 7 lakes tour, hit Chile for 4 days and then drop the car off in Mendoza, so it might be difficult pushing the boat out for another day. I told them we’ll see. As ever there just isn’t enough time to do everything. It’s one of the rambling conundrums that ramblers have. You get somewhere, start learning about it, want to check it out, and realise there simply isn’t enough time, so you do what you can. It’s usually hit the main attractions and then if you’re lucky pick off one or two of the others. I might be able to wrangle an extra day here. It will be worth it if I can. There is so much to see: hand gliding, canoeing, diving, serious bike riding and a huge choice of hikes of varying difficultly.
Yesterday was different. I set off to conquer one of the local mountains, mount Frey. It is a 2000m high peak with a small lake on top and a very small hostel with a one man cook-electrician-ski boarding-handyman McGuiver-like Argentina legend called Marcus looking after the place. Not only did he bake a lovely fresh loaf when I was there but he also whipped up magical spag bol for 2euros. Getting to the hostel was demanding. 10km up and 10km down. The terrain varied in difficulty and constitution. It started with your normal forest like scenario that you would get back home. After about 2km it changed dramatically into a flat plain with sporadic streams flowing down from the ice cap above. All around the plain was old grey dead trees. Trees that looked as if they had been hit my a merciless pesticide. Very strange when you turned the corner and went from a fecundity of fertile bright green and brown colours to be hit with weak straw grass and grey dead bark. After about 5km the trail started its ascent. It consisted of some wooden bridges over some small but aggressive rivers and waterfalls and then a lot of bramble and open earthed roots from big giant trees. It was difficult to climb but not as difficult as what lay ahead the last 2k. Mostly rock, mud, bog and finally ankle height snow. Because the trail wasn’t marked too well I got lost on the wrong path for half an hour but I eventually got back on track and made it up to the top after a few handfuls of snow to eat.
The night I thought was going to be calm and relaxed as there was only one Italian man and two English girls in the hut. But I was wrong. At about 9pm 50. Yes 50 Argentian students between the age of 12 and 14 popped out of the snow or beamed themselves from an orbiting spaceship onto the top of the mountain. All of a sudden paradise on the top of mount Frey turned into a tent infested school room where yours truly was interviwed by at least 15 curious oogling kids giving me the Spanish inquisition in broken English and teaching me how to name all the utensils on a kitchen table in Spanish. Not exactly what I expected but a good laugh and a strange place and strange way to learn how to say knife, fork, spoon and butter in Spainish.
On the Spanish front, it is pleasantly very similar to Portuguese. Thankfully I didn’t have to start from scratch to learn a new language. I can confidently say that Portuguese is a much more difficult to learn. The phonetics are far more complex and the use of nasal sounds are more prevalent. Having said that Spanish pronunciations are also difficult. So far I’ve learned that the “v” sounds like a “b” and the “j” sounds like a “h” and the unusual double L “ll” sounds like “ya”. While attempting to speak Spanish it has been difficult resisting throwing in the odd Portuguese word. I more than often do and fortunately usually they understand what I am trying to say. I’d love another two months here. I reckon with 3 months here I’d have strong conversational skills.
So there you have, the south Americal leg is almost over.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
The Moreno Glacier
Unfortunately some of the eys on my laptop ( the ones besde u and j especially and the comma and full stop) or broen as such ths mumbo-jumbo word-mountan that loos amazingly le the jagged roughed landscape ve just been captivated and nspred by.
35m long 1 m wide 60m high a majestical pantng that nature rarely produces and often takes away in the blinking of an eye the masterpiece s still here and unbelievably s still being panted everyday a frosty slap in the iris a blue punch n the pupil a shotgun sound n the ear the falling ice chunks small tidal waves eye tnted mountans small nimble birds with spiky heads and attitudes thousands of jagged undulating bumps with a ten types of blue and a hundreds types of white dd you now that the esmos have 300 names for snow down here the ce must have the same nearby El Chatlen and the magnanimous Fitzroy range climbing paradise the powerful towers of pain huge stone masses shooting ominously into the sy nqustve condors 4 hour horse track innumerable meandering rivers a nice Swedish couple a 4th generaton rshman called Marcos avanagh hs stores of attacng puma on the prares the world famously cold bone chilling winds three coats two pants were not enough almost nhumanable conditions beautiful wld horses that are traded for 125 euros turquoise lae Argentna tender lomo meat durng ther toughest economc tmes of late n one wee the country had unbelievably 5 presdents no longer one to one wth the dollar the people are slowly readjustng the widest variety of snow capped moutons have ever seen that run on for ever laugng at the stars and talng wth the cluds the cheapest but slowest nternet access yet hostl el calafate almost loosng my camera a dash bac to get before the bus left the coolest customer servcce rep ever altruism n full swng repad hm wth a bottle of melbec fnshng the edtng of the 3rd boo starng out a bg clear wndow the lazest dogs n the world that go around n bg pacs shaelton lounge and lyng star shaped on the ground loong at the heavens drun on wne and beer havng to fly to Buenos to get to Barloche fryng up my own tender steas n the hostel the 7 laes tour on the way and holeween n the lae dstrct. John Culnan wherever you are you’d love t down here ths place was made for you.
Ive copied and pasted a little but enough is enough.
Iiiiiii….hey ‘I’ is miraciously back in action and so is kkkkkkk
….
;,,,,
im back…..life on the road for a beaten, bounced and walloped laptop.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Land of Fire
Day: 210
Location: Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina
Temp: 5c
Tierra Del Fuego, or the “The Land of Fire” is located at the tip of South America, down from the Falkland Islands, past the straits of Magellan and a mere two day freight boat away from the penguins in Antarctica. It earns its name from distant shoreline campfires the indigenous Yagan people tended to. These infernos were ogled at by mesmerised explorers sailing the surrounding, channels and straits in years gone by. These days almost all the Yahgan`s are gone and the archipelago is owned mostly by neighbouring Chile, though the biggest cities of Rio Grande and where the dogs and I are, Ushuaia, belong to Argentina. The last few days have consisted of cable rides to Glaciers and climbing mountains in the country’s first coastline National Park. But hold the husky ride for a moment. Let me back pack (I`m getting so used to that name now), I mean back slay a bit for a moment. Let’s tie up the dogs and let me tell you what’s been happening since my last blog.
Here is the abbreviated and censored version:
My good friend Alex Martin decided to pay me a whirl wind, “high-rolling” week long visit after learning that he had been accepted to do his MBA in Sydney. For a period of 10 days we went mad. First in Sao Paulo, at my farewell Brasilian party which was a hell raising, drunken, hugs, kisses and champagne affair that became very messy at about 8am in the morning. And let’s not forget emotional. I now consider a part of my heart Brasilian. I love the people. I love the culture. And I love picanha, Corinthians and Guarana! After my Sao Paulo exit we headed to Buenos Aires where Alex was swiftly introduced to my ever smiling Scotish friend Yvonne and her ultra sound and ultra cool boyfriend Jason. Over the space of a few blurry days we hit some of the nightclubs: Club 69, Pasha, BA News and the 8am to 3pm Kaix club which is the craziest club I have ever went to in my life. You got to check this place out. It’s situated on the River Plate, which gives it a dramatic watery affect, and at 8am the sun makes its way gently into the sky and hits the small circular dance floor with some of its dappled yellow and golden rays. The club holds about 2,000 people. About 2,500 people were there when we made our introduction, 95% on drugs, 99% out from the night before, all taking part in a clubbing marathon. When we arrived ther were 5 bodybuilder gay lords commanding the dance floor with flamboyant multi-coloured spiked haircuts, squeezing their pecks and tensing their biceps to every beat in the excellent uplifting house tunes and 80s rifts. Beside them were two 6ft 2 or 6ft 3 giant transvestites that danced languidly with the lissom grace of one of the incoming waves in the bay. Speckled all around them were a corpulence of banging ravers jumping, shouting, whistling, biting, hugging, jaw chewing, index finger firing, pill dropping, sneaker wearing dancers all seemingly having the time of their life. Alex and I got home at about 11am. Eusebius never saw anything like it in his life and spent most of his time jumping up and down and taking mental notes of everything he saw. He mostly stood on the periphery. Brutos on the other paw got stuck in there in the middle of the dance floor and gave as good as he got. As the morning progressed and the tunes kept spinning he introduced himselfs to loads of people. By the end of the day he must have shook tails and barked friendly at least half the people there. He slept for 24 hours afterwards.
Unbelievably, after 3 days, Alex decided a visit back to Brasil was in order, this time the River of January. And in a scene reminiscent of Snatch, our passports flashed by us, were quickly stamped and our metal bird hit the sky and before you could say “Polar Bears are actually very dangerous and not to be petted” we were taking snaps of Christ the Redeemer, body boarding in Ipanema, and knocking back more champagne then you can imagine (on one occasion 10 bottles in one night).
After all that madness Alex headed back to London in a heap and I was sent in individual parcels down to Buenos Aires and put back together by the beautiful Meire and Beatchie, friends from Brasil, who decided to visit me.
One of the highlights of my entire trip was a wonderful meal we had at an amazing Tango show called “Senhor Tango”. A two hour, amazing extravaganza with the best dancing I have ever seen, and, a rendition of “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” at the end which had Eusebius in tears. Fantastic and highly highly recommended. A must see in my books if you get to Buenos Aires. And at US$50 for the show and a top notch meal well worth pushing out the budget. The next few days were spent lazily strolling around the highly sophisticated, beautifully adorned, cosmopolitan capital. A wonderful city. A cross between the old town in Stockholm and Paris. The city seemed to be a never ending pall of thousands and thousands of chic and classy indoor and outdoor cafes and restaurants all surrounded and intertwined with a variety of elegant older buildings. In our short trip we got a chance to visit the beautiful district of Rocoleta with its unforgettable cemetery, take in some weird and wacky markets in Boca, on the port (the home of the famous Boca Juniors team, where Diego Maradona applied his trade and is revered as a demigod) and loiter around the widest main street in any capital in the world, Av 9 del Julio (and impressive 8 lanes, 56m wide).
After their whirlwind visit the Brazilians returned to their homeland and I hung out for a few days with Yvonne and Jason. This was complete chill out time. With plenty of rest and plenty of good food. They’re now in Mendoza and more than likely slugging back some fancy red wine, that came from a fancy rare grape variety that was stored in a fancy oak barrel wine. I’m looking forward to swirling, spitting and downing some of it myself in a few weeks.
Okay, where was I… Oh yes, glaciers and national parks… I am presently leaning on the keyboards of my laptop in a cool hostel called Torre al Sur looking out into the heavily snow capped mountain surrounded bay in Ushuaia. There are two English women and an Irish woman across the table from me debating whether or not they have the time, money or equipment to take on the 10 day trip to the Antarctica (so far I’ve gleaned it costs 2,000 US dollars for 10 days [more expensive in high season Dec-Jan], it takes the big freight boat 2 days to get over and 2 days to get back and that its cold), and I`m loading some of the photos from the last two days` excursions on to my hard drive. The first trip was a cable car ride to the Martial Glacier, which took about 2 hours and boasts one of the most spectacular views of the city and bay. Truly beautiful. Today was a visit to Parque Nacional Tierra Del Fuego which consists of numerous hikes, the most southerly operating train in the world, cascading rivers, giant lakes, tall dense forests, blue pink glaciers and sporadic beaches. I decided to take on the hardest trail which was an 8km hike up and down to the very steep Cerro Guanaco through a heavily meandering, forest path, which took me a demanding 4 hours to wrestle and conquer. The site from the top was even better than the Martial Glacier. Luckily enough I got back to my base station and a warm fire just before a huge downpour of snow, sleet and rain hit the park. I`m tired now but enthused. I`m sleepy but ready and waiting for tomorrow’s adventure. Hopefully I’ll be clapping flippers with seals, studying the foxes and beavers and staring at Andean condors and black-browed albatrosses.
Location: Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina
Temp: 5c
Tierra Del Fuego, or the “The Land of Fire” is located at the tip of South America, down from the Falkland Islands, past the straits of Magellan and a mere two day freight boat away from the penguins in Antarctica. It earns its name from distant shoreline campfires the indigenous Yagan people tended to. These infernos were ogled at by mesmerised explorers sailing the surrounding, channels and straits in years gone by. These days almost all the Yahgan`s are gone and the archipelago is owned mostly by neighbouring Chile, though the biggest cities of Rio Grande and where the dogs and I are, Ushuaia, belong to Argentina. The last few days have consisted of cable rides to Glaciers and climbing mountains in the country’s first coastline National Park. But hold the husky ride for a moment. Let me back pack (I`m getting so used to that name now), I mean back slay a bit for a moment. Let’s tie up the dogs and let me tell you what’s been happening since my last blog.
Here is the abbreviated and censored version:
My good friend Alex Martin decided to pay me a whirl wind, “high-rolling” week long visit after learning that he had been accepted to do his MBA in Sydney. For a period of 10 days we went mad. First in Sao Paulo, at my farewell Brasilian party which was a hell raising, drunken, hugs, kisses and champagne affair that became very messy at about 8am in the morning. And let’s not forget emotional. I now consider a part of my heart Brasilian. I love the people. I love the culture. And I love picanha, Corinthians and Guarana! After my Sao Paulo exit we headed to Buenos Aires where Alex was swiftly introduced to my ever smiling Scotish friend Yvonne and her ultra sound and ultra cool boyfriend Jason. Over the space of a few blurry days we hit some of the nightclubs: Club 69, Pasha, BA News and the 8am to 3pm Kaix club which is the craziest club I have ever went to in my life. You got to check this place out. It’s situated on the River Plate, which gives it a dramatic watery affect, and at 8am the sun makes its way gently into the sky and hits the small circular dance floor with some of its dappled yellow and golden rays. The club holds about 2,000 people. About 2,500 people were there when we made our introduction, 95% on drugs, 99% out from the night before, all taking part in a clubbing marathon. When we arrived ther were 5 bodybuilder gay lords commanding the dance floor with flamboyant multi-coloured spiked haircuts, squeezing their pecks and tensing their biceps to every beat in the excellent uplifting house tunes and 80s rifts. Beside them were two 6ft 2 or 6ft 3 giant transvestites that danced languidly with the lissom grace of one of the incoming waves in the bay. Speckled all around them were a corpulence of banging ravers jumping, shouting, whistling, biting, hugging, jaw chewing, index finger firing, pill dropping, sneaker wearing dancers all seemingly having the time of their life. Alex and I got home at about 11am. Eusebius never saw anything like it in his life and spent most of his time jumping up and down and taking mental notes of everything he saw. He mostly stood on the periphery. Brutos on the other paw got stuck in there in the middle of the dance floor and gave as good as he got. As the morning progressed and the tunes kept spinning he introduced himselfs to loads of people. By the end of the day he must have shook tails and barked friendly at least half the people there. He slept for 24 hours afterwards.
Unbelievably, after 3 days, Alex decided a visit back to Brasil was in order, this time the River of January. And in a scene reminiscent of Snatch, our passports flashed by us, were quickly stamped and our metal bird hit the sky and before you could say “Polar Bears are actually very dangerous and not to be petted” we were taking snaps of Christ the Redeemer, body boarding in Ipanema, and knocking back more champagne then you can imagine (on one occasion 10 bottles in one night).
After all that madness Alex headed back to London in a heap and I was sent in individual parcels down to Buenos Aires and put back together by the beautiful Meire and Beatchie, friends from Brasil, who decided to visit me.
One of the highlights of my entire trip was a wonderful meal we had at an amazing Tango show called “Senhor Tango”. A two hour, amazing extravaganza with the best dancing I have ever seen, and, a rendition of “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” at the end which had Eusebius in tears. Fantastic and highly highly recommended. A must see in my books if you get to Buenos Aires. And at US$50 for the show and a top notch meal well worth pushing out the budget. The next few days were spent lazily strolling around the highly sophisticated, beautifully adorned, cosmopolitan capital. A wonderful city. A cross between the old town in Stockholm and Paris. The city seemed to be a never ending pall of thousands and thousands of chic and classy indoor and outdoor cafes and restaurants all surrounded and intertwined with a variety of elegant older buildings. In our short trip we got a chance to visit the beautiful district of Rocoleta with its unforgettable cemetery, take in some weird and wacky markets in Boca, on the port (the home of the famous Boca Juniors team, where Diego Maradona applied his trade and is revered as a demigod) and loiter around the widest main street in any capital in the world, Av 9 del Julio (and impressive 8 lanes, 56m wide).
After their whirlwind visit the Brazilians returned to their homeland and I hung out for a few days with Yvonne and Jason. This was complete chill out time. With plenty of rest and plenty of good food. They’re now in Mendoza and more than likely slugging back some fancy red wine, that came from a fancy rare grape variety that was stored in a fancy oak barrel wine. I’m looking forward to swirling, spitting and downing some of it myself in a few weeks.
Okay, where was I… Oh yes, glaciers and national parks… I am presently leaning on the keyboards of my laptop in a cool hostel called Torre al Sur looking out into the heavily snow capped mountain surrounded bay in Ushuaia. There are two English women and an Irish woman across the table from me debating whether or not they have the time, money or equipment to take on the 10 day trip to the Antarctica (so far I’ve gleaned it costs 2,000 US dollars for 10 days [more expensive in high season Dec-Jan], it takes the big freight boat 2 days to get over and 2 days to get back and that its cold), and I`m loading some of the photos from the last two days` excursions on to my hard drive. The first trip was a cable car ride to the Martial Glacier, which took about 2 hours and boasts one of the most spectacular views of the city and bay. Truly beautiful. Today was a visit to Parque Nacional Tierra Del Fuego which consists of numerous hikes, the most southerly operating train in the world, cascading rivers, giant lakes, tall dense forests, blue pink glaciers and sporadic beaches. I decided to take on the hardest trail which was an 8km hike up and down to the very steep Cerro Guanaco through a heavily meandering, forest path, which took me a demanding 4 hours to wrestle and conquer. The site from the top was even better than the Martial Glacier. Luckily enough I got back to my base station and a warm fire just before a huge downpour of snow, sleet and rain hit the park. I`m tired now but enthused. I`m sleepy but ready and waiting for tomorrow’s adventure. Hopefully I’ll be clapping flippers with seals, studying the foxes and beavers and staring at Andean condors and black-browed albatrosses.
Obrigado Brasil
Acabo de sair das viagias que passei em Brasil. Foi super-legal. Fiquei com meu muito generoso pai Marcel. O tempo estava cheio com: adventura, diabrura and sorrisos. Fui visitar muitos lugares interessantes, e vi as cascatas em Chapada Dimentina e Falls de Iguacu, e dansei em Fortaleza e Salvador, e nadei com tubarao e golfinhos em Fornando de Naronha. E muito outra coisas……Ouvi muita musica Brasiliana, comei carne spectacular e gritei par Tiamao em Pacanbeau.
Foi uma tempo especial no meu vida que nunca esquecer. Eu sento quasi Brasilian ahora. Eu ansisoso que uma dia eu vou voltar.
To all my friends, of which there are too many to mention, I say a big Thank You. There will always be a special part of your amazing country in my heart of hearts. So let`s not say goodbye. Let`s say “ate logo”.
And to all of you Brasilian rambling vagabond who are thinking of visiting the other side of the world always know that you have a place to stay with me in Ireland.
Foi uma tempo especial no meu vida que nunca esquecer. Eu sento quasi Brasilian ahora. Eu ansisoso que uma dia eu vou voltar.
To all my friends, of which there are too many to mention, I say a big Thank You. There will always be a special part of your amazing country in my heart of hearts. So let`s not say goodbye. Let`s say “ate logo”.
And to all of you Brasilian rambling vagabond who are thinking of visiting the other side of the world always know that you have a place to stay with me in Ireland.
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