Sunday, October 21, 2007

How I ended up soaking wet while standing on a smoking volcano

This time, unlike the jungle adventure, it was all my fault. I was the one dying to climb the active Villarica Volcano in the Chilean lakes district.

We had taken an overnight bus from Santiago to the town of Pucòn after having met an exceedingly helpful expat in the bus station who bought our bus tickets with his discount card and filled us with enough recommendations to keep us busy for well over three weeks (we had one and a half, mind you). I slept only lightly on the bus so I was quite bleary-eyed when I pulled back the curtain of the window in front of me (we were sitting in the first two seats on the second level of the bus) and wiped off the condensation with my sleeve. Looking around I was immediately taken by the green pastures that reminded me vaguely of the Finger Lakes in summer. As we rounded a bend in the road, a giant snow covered cone rose from the distance belching a stream of white smoke against a perfectly blue sky. Definitely not in the Finger Lakes. Thus began a brief but dramatic relationship with Volcàn Villarica.

Though we arrived at our loding by 9 a.m., it was already too late for volcano climbing this day. Instead, we hiked through a national park after reserving our ascent for tomorrow.

We rose before 6 a.m. the following morning to prepare and eat. The bus pulled up at 7 a.m. and took us to the main office where we met the rest of our group (about 10 tourists and 3 guides) and gathered our gear - packs, ice picks, cramp ons, mountaineering boots, gaitors, fleece hats, fleece neck warmers, mountaineering mittens, some kind of weird pant/butt attachment designed to facilitate sliding down a mountain on your behind, shell pants, jackets, lots of food and water. Thus equipped, we drove an hour to the base camp to judge the weather.

When we arrived we were clearly sitting in the middle of a cloud. Our guides proclaimed the conditions to be ¨hermosa!¨, assuring us that we'd climb out of these clouds before long. Off we went, Kate and I bringing up the rear as our group trudged ever so slowly through the snow and up the mountain.

At the first rest stop we were both impatient to get moving as the group was climbing way too slowly for us to make it to the top in the required 6 hrs. Off we went with one of the guides to form the ¨fast group¨. This ended up being the only group to reach the summit and consisted of us, our guide and a British couple.

We did indead emerge from the clouds eventually to be greeted by beautiful views and blaringly white snow. We could not, however, see the summit. It turns out we were between cloud layers for a bright shining moment and would soon find ourselves buried inside a cloud once again, unable to see more than 10 feet in front of us. This lack of visibility was probably for the best. If it had been clearer I would have been able to see just how steep the slope I was half walking up, half slipping down, really was. As it was, every time Kate or I glanced up to look around we got instant vertigo and tripped over ourselves.

As we continued upward, the clouds became downright mean and started throwing things at us. Any stray hairs, including eyelashes and wisps falling out of our hats collected ice and snow, and my shades became coated with water, only maginfying the feeling that I had no idea where I was going...just keep following the blob that is our guide in front of me.

This was the point at which I started realizing that we looked like a line of hardcore mountaineers from documentaries I'd seen in the past. It was a short leap from that thought to specifically ¨Touching the Void¨ which, if you´ve never seen it, is not the movie you most want in your head as you climb a peak in South America.

My slight nervousness developed into a near paranoia when our guide stopped us to explain the proper use of the ice ax should you find yourself sliding uncontrollably down the mountain...right way, you stop... wrong way - and I quote here - 'Adios'. I proceeded one step at a time by putting my foot exactly where our guide had just removed his own - in other words, right on his ass. Kate did the same directly behind me.

When we reached the top, Kate and I walked up the crater and peered down only to be welcomed by a suffocating belch of sulphur. We ran away coughing and tearing up, yet still were quite satisfied that we'd reached the summit to receive a nice big sulphur ¨hola¨from the volcano.

After some sulphur cloud shrowded victory pictures, back down the mountain we went with me just inches behind the guide yet again. We descened via a different route which our guide softly informed me can be tricky to find in cloudy conditions such as this but without which you had to stay on the mountain top. Why he saw fit to share these little pearls of wisdom with only me, I can't be sure. Over the course of our hike I also got to hear several tales of dead tourists who'd falled off precipices, their bodies unable to be found till summer - all of whom, oddly enough, seemed to be Israelis. Maybe it was because he was annoyed with my walking practically on top of him, but stories like these only assured that I would continue to do so all the way up and down the mountain.

We slid down much of the mountain on our behinds, walking on the less steep sections and sliding through the rest while using our ice picks as breaks. The snow got slushier and soopier as we went down and began piling up around me till my pants had become about as slushy as the snow. Very cozy, I assure you.

Before too long we were back in the cloud break. At this point sliding was done and I tromped quickly down the slope, legs wide, wet pants sticking to my body. By the time we reached the parking lot we were again in a cloud - this one so thick that I couldn't find our van till I was standing nearly on top of it. Miraculously, I was still sunburned, not to mention wet, a little cold and famished. There was nothing to be done about the burn, but I addressed the others easily...first we camped ourselves by a wood stove and ordered dinner in town (I ate a completo gigante which is a glorified giant - and I do mean GIANT - hot dog); then followed a bottle of wine at the hot springs just out of town. Soaking in the dark with a bottle of wine, a light rain falling all around us -- the perfect end to a mountaineering day.

Adventures in Transport

As NYC residents, we are well aware that public transportation is a grand adventure, but in South America it´s more than that...it´s a cultural education. On our trip, Jess and I have had a wide range of public transportation experiences. The buses in Argentina were 1st class and the buses in Bolivia were more of a 4-wheel drive adventure. In Patagonia, though, we´ve been downright amazed at the ability to reach the most remote locations via public transit. As a tranportation planner, I have to also say that I am quite impressed by the variety of services available on this bus system. Of course it carries passengers. It also carries mail, packages, sacs of potatoes, groceries, and gifts and personal messages from one person to another. People even put their babies and small children on to be delivered down the road. Of course, given the remoteness of the locations, luxuries such as bus terminals, advance tickets and assigned seats tend to evaporate. Rather, you set out with a vague notion of how to get somewhere, a pocket full of small bills, some fortifying snacks, and hopefully a little luck.

Our first inter-Patagonia trip was from Pucón to Puerto Fuy (foo-ee). This is a little town of about 300 people on the shore of Lake Pirehueco, close to Argentina and surrounded by virgin forest and glacial waterfalls. Two bus transfers later, we found ourselves in this tiny town where you are more likely to run into pigs, cows and horses on the street than cars or people. The next day was Sunday, however, and we found ourselves with 12km between us and the national park no bus. Therefore we proceded to walk the 12km. Just when we started to realize that this was taking a long time, a pick-up truck pulled up and offered us a ride. This was very generous considering the truck had one bench seat with two people already on it. We gladly accepted, however, and the two of us squeezed ourselves into the little seat for door-step delivery to the park. After some glacial waterfall viewing, we of course had no choice but to walk again. After some rejection though we were able to score a lift in the back of an overcrowded pick-up and were dropped at the door of a lodge where we were able to rent a tandem kayak for the afternoon.

The following day was Monday so there were buses but not until 3pm, so we got a late start on a long day of travel. After boarding in Puerto Fuy, we were immediately joined by another 60+ people, meaning that we had to stand in an overcrowded bus for the next 2 hours. This took us to Panguipulli where we flagged down a bus for the next leg of the journey as it was pulling out of the "terminal". This bus let us off on the side of the road where we were to wait for the bus to Osorno. What we didn´t realize was that it was a holiday. After 3 full buses left us standing on the side of the road, we had almost given up hope for the night and began to wonder what 2 gringos might need to do to find a place to crash for the night. Fortunately, on the next bus I was able to secure us 2 spots that were technically unavailable. We finally reached Osorno late at night in the pouring rain, one leg away from our destination for the day. We stayed in a cheap hotel near the bus terminal that served a free breakfast of stale bread and instant coffee. Thus nourished, we headed to a sheep farm just outside the small town of Puerto Octay, which doubled as a hostel. It´s called Zapato Amarillo (or Yellow Boot) and had a giant, yellow wooden boot on the side of the road. You are just supposed to tell the bus driver to let you off at the "Yellow Boot". This is where we relaxed and made plans for our next adventure.

We decided to search out some natural hot springs on the edge of the temperate rainforest and made our next bus plans. We boarded our 1st bus and were let off at the junction of two country roads. Here we were picked up by a 2nd bus that took us to the small town of El Poncho on the edge of Lake Rupanco. This town consisted of one supermarket that sold cookies and crackers. Here we boarded a ferry to take us to the end of the lake where we were to stay in a little cabin at the end of the lake on yet another sheep farm. This ferry accommodated about 10 people and facilitated door-step delivery of each person with their sacs of potatos and flour brought along on the bus. The bus gets close to the shore, the plank goes down, you jump off and the boat pulls away. No stopping necessary.

While this may seem like a lot of work for 2 people on vacation, we felt it was worth it as we lounged in our private hot spring, dug out of a black volcanic sand beach, on the edge of a crystal clear glacial lake, surrounded by temperate rainforest and several volcanos.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Arequipeños!

Jess and I were recently in Arequipa, Peru and had a taste of life in this city made of white volcanic stone. We were enjoying a traditional Incan meal of seafood stew and became chatty with our waiter, Jose Luis. We didn´t think much of it until he found us on the street the next day. He was very friendly and, as we were on our way to the bus station to buy tickets, he even offered to go with us. However, we didn´t go in a taxi. Instead he offered to show us how to travel like real Arequipeños (people from Arequipa)--in colectivos. The colectivo buses are mini-vans with destinations scribbled on the windsheilds. They ply the streets as someone from inside shouts out a list of destinations and prices in rapid succession. If there are any takers it will stop. Taking the colectivo was our first introduction to life in Arequipa.

Later that evening we were invited to a party at Jose Luis´s house for his brother´s engagement and birthday. After a frightfully fast drive in his cousin´s car to an outer section of the city, we arrived and were introduced to his family. His mother, father, brothers, and lots of other family members were all in attendence and we were the conspicuous visitors. However, we were welcomed wholeheartedly. We were immediately seated and given a hearty meal of quinoa soup, duck, potatos, and coca cola. Afterwards the cocktails began with a mixture of strawberries, milk, and pisco (a local liquor made from grapes). This was a warm-up for the dancing and continued pisco consumption that would dominate the evening.

The tables were pushed to the wall and a pisco and sprite drink was served. Jose´s brother seemed to be a budding DJ and got the evening started by mixing some salsa and merengue music on his computer. Jose´s cousin asked me to dance and we were soon joined by the rest of the family. The dancing continued for hours and was interupted only for birthday cake and toasting to the birthday boy. As the evening progressed, Jose´s brother decided to put on some trance and other club music for the benefit of the Americans. Jess and I danced in the middle of the room with the brother and cousin to the cheers from the rest of the family. Then came more salsa and merengue. The party broke up around 2am and after thanking his family we were taken home tired and full of pisco and soda.

The next day we were off to Chile, where we spent a few days in an overcast surfing town called Iquique. As a day trip from here we went to Mamiña, whose only claim to fame are hot springs and mud springs, which is exactly what Jess was looking for. After covering ourselves in mud and baking in sun, we rinsed in a thermal pool and were ready for lunch. Fortunately, the one open restaurant in town, serving its one lunch dish, appropriately called "lunch" and one beverage (Sprite), deined to serve us after sitting at a table for not less than 30 minutes. No matter. Our next destination happened to be closed for siesta, so we had all the time we needed. After soaking for a few more post-siesta hours in a private thermal pool, we emerged and waited for our mini-bus. One hour later we were still waiting and starting to worry that we might not make it back that evening. This was the only bus of the day. However, there was nothing to do but keep waiting and the patience paid off. An hour and a half late, but very apologetic, our driver arrived. He had fallen asleep. After a speedy return trip (maybe too speedy) we arrived back in Iquique almost on time and totally cleansed.

We are writing this post from a little town called La Serena, not quite half-way down this long skinny country, but at least 24 hours from the northern border. Tomorrow we visit the penguin reserve before making our way south yet again. Stay tuned for penguin pictures and more updates!