In Rapa Nui the Rapanui speak Rapanui 05/29/2010
 The five-hour flight into the middle of the Pacific Ocean delivered a plane full of excited travellers, like me, and a handful of Rapa Nui returning home from “the continent” safely on the tiny Ilsa de Pascua, Easter Island. Rapa Nui, as it ‘s called by its people, is renowned for a number of exotic titles that it holds. For one it is the most remote inhabited island in the world - the nearest place with permanent inhabitants is Pitcairn Island over 2000km to the west. Secondly it is a place of great anthropological interest, as the ancient people that inhabited the island are thought to have lived in complete isolation from any other human contact for hundreds of years. The culture they developed was indeed unique, and although some similarities in language, architecture, agriculture and art can be found mainly with Polynesian cultures there are certain things Rapanui, for example the “Birdman Cult” or their stone masonry on an epic scale, that cannot be likened to anything else. Also the island and its people are known to have suffered many hardships and abuse since their discovery by the outside world. Their once thousands-strong population of “ancients” decline to just 111 people by the second half of the 19th century due to the effects of famines, epidemics, civil war, slave raids, colonialism, and near deforestation. “In recent times the island has served as a cautionary tale about the cultural and environmental dangers of overexploitation. Ethnographers and archaeologists now argue that the introduction of diseases carried by European colonizers and the slave raiding that devastated the population in the 1800s had a much greater social than environmental impact. Introduced animals—first rats and then sheep—were largely responsible for the island's loss of native flora.” Then of course there are the Moai, the huge stone statues for which the island is most widely known. They are found on carefully built platforms, or “ahu”, at many sites around the island. All of the sites have been carefully restored as all the Moai were lying toppled by the mid 1800’s – civil warfare amongst the Rapanui and the occasional tsunami’s had taken its toll. Each large stone statue is a representation of a specific revered person, usually a decease head of a family or lineage. But enough with the history lesson for now…  Arriving at the airport The travellers were met at the tiny airport with smiles, hugs and flower necklaces by hotel and hostel hosts, friends and family. I found my hostess, Tevake, and was escorted back to the hostel in a rusty old combi. I didn’t waste any time and as soon as I had dumped my bags in my room I headed out to get my first sighting of the Moai on the edge of town and a little taste of the one and only little village on the island, Hanga Roa.  Hanga Roa Bay  Hotu Matua was the chief that first founded Rapa Nui   Maoi with petroglyphs  Tahai Kote Riku After a little wander around I made my way back to my hostel “Ana Rapu” and upon my arrival home I was invited to go along with Tito, the owner of the hostel, to his farm. Next thing I knew I was bumping along a dirt track, in a falling-apart bakkie, with three young Rapa Nui boys on the back, towards the farmlands outside of Hanga Roa. Tito didn’t speak any English, and of course my Spanish is extremely limited to say the least, but somehow we managed to chat a little along the way. He told me about his farm and his 200 head of cattle and asked questions about where I was from and what I did there. He was quite a character old Tito. At one stage he took great delight in telling me about the cattle he had to slaughter later that day, with graphic actions and a couple of elbow nudges to make sure I understood the event. An impish grin plastered on his face all the while. I think he was hoping for a little more of a squeamish response from me than he got.  Driving along the farm roads with Tito  Arriving at the farm the boys jumped off the back and started about their chores – Tito’s son saddled up a horse and rode off to heard the cattle home, while the other two got on with feeding the and watering the pigs and dogs. Tito and I drove off into the fields of corn and harvested a bakkie load to feed the livestock. He wasted no time in giving me the job of feeding the chickens with a large portion of the maize we had just cut. Eventually, most of the chores done, hands dirtied, we bumped and scraped along the farm roads toward home. Now that Tito had made a new friend, and he wasn’t going to let me go in a hurry. I somehow spent the rest of the evening peeling and chopping potatoes and other veggies with him while he prepared a dinner for about 20 of his friends and family for the next day. I was rewarded, gratefully, with a massive bowl of chunky veggie soup, a cold corona and a good couple of cheers and pats on the back. When in Rapa Nui… I guess. After my kitchen chores were done I spent the rest of the evening with Tevake (Tito’s daughter) and her friends while they partied into the night. We sat on the hill next to the hostel, with a beautiful view over Hanga Roa and the bay, ocean breeze fresh on our faces, listening to music from a boom-box as the light faded, the stars emerged and the full moon rose. The group of Rapa Nui youths were welcoming and fun to hang out with, and it amazed me that despite the language barriers we managed to have an evening full of laughter and story telling together. They certainly made me feel very welcome.  The party venue at dusk At one point in the evening a song started plying from the boom-box, the rhythm sounding surprisingly familiar at first. Then when I heard the lyrics I was astounded – “Soweto, Soweto… Say no to apartheid, say no”. Yes, there up on a hill on the edge of Hanga Roa town, on an island in the middle of the Pacific I was hearing music from my own country. The world is indeed a very small place these days. So it was an interesting first day… and I cant wait to see what the rest of my short stay here will bring. (...And for those interested there are better pictures of the Moai to come) 9 Comments Meandering Mel Lives Again! 05/27/2010
Forethought For those of you that may be following my travel musings, yes, there is a chunk missing. After the last entry in April I enjoyed a five day ferry trip though the never ending archipelago of southern Chile (and yes, converted a bunch of fellow travellers to the wonders of crochet), spent a week on the beautiful and intriguing island of Chiloe, had a mad travel schedule from Chile home to South Africa…and had a little surgery. Lots to tell, but for now I am going to try and recount some more recent events of my return to South America, and will hopefully slot in those stories a little later. Lots of love to all who are reading! Enjoy! For the second time, this time with a little more insight as to what I was getting myself into, I packed my bags and readied myself for the long trip to Chile. I have had to rethink my itinerary somewhat, but the great news is that come the beginning of June I will have a travel buddy. Dr Jenny from Madwaleni will be flying into Quito, Ecuador and I am very chuffed to be joining her there. The flight from Joburg to Buenos Aires was easy enough as I was lucky to be given a great seat right in the front with empty chairs next to me, so I was able to get a couple hours sleep. After a long layover in Buenos Aires Airport, which surprisingly I have come to know pretty well by now, I was ready for the relatively short hop over the Andes to Santiago. For some unknown, but very fortunate reason, I was bumped up to first class for this flight, and what’s more, I had it all to myself! What had I done to deserve this? I was pretty tired by this stage (it was round 4am South African time by now), and were I with the rest of the livestock in economy class I would have ignored the mini shrink-wrapped meals with single serving condiments and tried desperately to get some sleep. But considering my fortune I had to push through. For every cramped economy flight I had taken I had to make the most of this spacious, pampered journey, with an airhostess all to myself no less. I enjoyed the restaurant style meal, at human sized portions, and savoured the good red wine in a proper glass. When I could no longer sit up straight from fatigue I lifted the armrests and lay down to sleep for what was left of the flight. The airhostess all but tucked me in. In seconds I was in as deep a slumber as you can get on a plane. About 10 minutes before we landed, when the airhostess herself had to take a seat, she woke me gently to get me vertical and all strapped for touch down. Ahhhh… first class. Back in Santiago. Hmmm… Not my favourite place as you may remember, but this time I was not going to be taken advantage of. Of that I was certain. I landed close to midnight, so there was no chance of getting a bus into town, so I bought a prepaid taxi – expensive, but the going price, with no chance of being ripped off for the ride. The taxi driver dropped me off at my hostel, this time away from the never-ending bustle of down town, in the university area of Republica. The hostel was cheap, and a little nasty, but I had a bed in a room to myself and for that I was grateful.  The Elegant Vicuna I had a day to kill in Santiago before flying over to the remote Rapa Nui (very excited for that by the way!) and I had arranged to go and see some alpacas that were in a quarantine facility just outside of the city, awaiting their export. My host for the day, and head of Alpacas International, Geoff Scott, picked me up from my hostel in the mid morning and we drove out through the industrial area of Santiago to where he leases some land to quarantine the fluffy camelids before they are flown to their various destinations around the world. I was so happy for the opportunity to do and see something real, something that interested me and to avoid the ramshackle chaos of Santiago. I had been a little disappointed that I was unable to volunteer on Geoff’s colleague’s farm, as I had begun arranging - a stud for horses and alpacas south of Santiago (I mean, how perfect?!) - due to my pesky broad ligament cyst and its propensity to do the twist, so this at least was a small consolation.  Hmmm, I think we need a haircut  Creatures of Character I thoroughly enjoyed the outing. Geoff did his thing and sorted out what he had to with the foreman of the quarantine facility, and I wandered around taking photographs of my newfound favourite animals. They truly are beautiful, if somewhat unusual creatures. These guys were all overdue a sheering it seemed as they looked comically huge-bodied on their skinny little legs. Some of them clearly had some alpaca arguments to sort out, squealing and moaning, chasing each other around and stretching out for the occasional, rather brutal, bite of their opponent’s ear or neck. Very entertaining.  Can you say 'aaaaahhhhh!'? There were also many cria (baby alpacas) recently born in the facility, some only 5 days old, that were just too cute to believe. Geoff and the foreman caught a few of them to assess their fleece quality and I joined in and tried to learn as much as I could from the exercise. Back at my hostel, I thought I would take a walk around Republica and try to see another side to Santiago. I wandered through the streets networking the various university departments, people watching and on the lookout for a trendy street café or some interesting shops. Well, the latter two I did not come across at all, but the people-watching was certainly entertaining. Students will always be interesting, if somewhat odd, wacky or purposefully different, aiming to shock in their quest to create an identity for themselves and come to grips with the world around them. But Chilean students, I must say, have to take the cake. I have never seen so many odd hairstyles, way-out outfits and wild ways as the students I saw hanging around the Universidad de Chile. I am not sure how much learning they were all doing that day, most seemed to just be hanging out on the pavement benches smoking cigarettes, listening to music or snogging, but I certainly got an education! Tomorrow I have an early morning flight to the far-flung Rapa Nui, Easter Island as it is commonly known. I look forward to some more rural surroundings and experiencing something out of the ordinary. Hasta luego amigos! Big Ice - the full story 04/15/2010
I was so grateful to be out of the hospital, pain free and not under the knife that the afternoon I was discharged from the hospital I booked myself on an excursion to hike on the Perito Moreno glacier the very next day. Perhaps I was still under the influence of the “lekker drugs” they pumped into me at the hospital and my judgement was a little clouded… Either way I was rearing to do something awesome, something a little “Extreme”! Even Frederico, a host at the hostel, said to me, “Meleesa, yesterday in the hospital, today on the Big Ice!” as I walked out the door in the darkness of the early morning to get on the tour bus.  Morniing view over Lago Argentino  Approaching the glacier The sun rose as we drove to the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, east of the little town of El Calafate. First we were taken to the winding platform that guides visitors along the expansive views of the glaciers five kilometre frontage with an average 74m of ice above the water level. Very impressive! Now and again we were able to see chunks of ice falling off with a loud crack and the front of the constantly shifting glacier.  Perito Moreno is indeed immense, spanning a surface area of 250km2 and running a length of 30km. It is one of numerous glaciers fed my the Southern Patagonian Ice fields where enormous amounts of water are trapped and frozen in the heights of the Andes and over years impacted and squeezed out through valleys and rifts towards lower ground in Chile and Argentina. It is also one of only three glaciers in Patagonia that is actually advancing, all the others have been steadily retreating over the last century or so that these ice formations have been studied and documented. With this process of advance it has also started creating a rather spectacular phenomenon called the rupture.  The glacier creeping close to the shore where it would block off the far Brazo Rico section of the Lago Argentino creating a temporary dam Periodically the glacier advances over the L-shaped Lago Argentino, forming a natural dam by separating the two halves of the lake as it reaches the opposite shore. With no escape route, the water level of the Brazo Rico arm of the lake can rise by up to 30 meters above the level of the main lake. The enormous pressure produced by the height of the dammed water finally breaks the ice barrier holding it back, in a spectacular rupture event. This cycle of damn and rupture recurs in an irregular cycle every one to ten years. It is recorded as happening for the first time in 1917, and last occurred in 2008.  Perito Moreno glacier and the Argentinian flag  Getting closer to the glacier  Stephanie and me getting ready! After checking out the glacier from afar we hopped back on the bus and headed for the boat. We boarded for the brief but icy trip across Brazo Rico to start the hike from the southern edge of the glacier. Our guides met us at the edge of the water, gave us a short briefing and we headed off to pick up our crampons (I do wish they had found another name for those things as I cant hide a childish smirk every time I say it) and hike for about an hour along the edge of the glacier to the point where we would don our harnesses and crampons and start the ice hike. The guides helped us strap the brutal looking metal spikes onto our shoes and took us through the basics of walking on ice.  Fernando helping me put on the crampons I’m not sure I can adequately describe the feeling of walking on such a strange and unfamiliar landscape. The crampons were heavy and clumsy, the cold from the surface under my feet was freezing my toes and I tried with intense concentration to walk as we were told; legs wide apart, being sure to stamp your feet into the ice with each step. The end result, as you can imagine, was a rather forceful penguin waddle, only less graceful.  Walking on Ice!  Soon enough though the enjoyment of the whole experience took over and I started to walk with confidence as I gazed around me in amazement. The details of the icy landscape were spectacular – crevasses and sinkholes, caves and overhangs, rivers and pools, endless undulating ice in all directions. At one point the guides took us one by one, holding us each tightly by our harnesses, to look down into a massive, seemingly never ending sinkhole. A river was pouring into it creating a loud, echoing whirl of water carving the ice into bowls and pockets all the way down. An incredible sight!  Glacier river  Caves and overhangs  Massive never ending sinkhole... not nearly as amazing in the photo  Rob, Jessica, me and Sephanie picnicking on the ice  Frozen Mel  Diamond Ice  Martin and Ariel serving up the whiskeys We ended with the guided handing out whisky on the rocks and some yummy chocolate cookies. The day was so enjoyable – one of those where I walked around during and after with a fixed silly grin on my face. So good to out there and experiencing something new! On Tuesday morning it was another breakfast in the dark – something I seem to be doing rather often while travelling, then a short walk to meet Richard at the Cootra Bus Stop to catch our bus to El Calafate, Argentina. We were going to the little town, popular on the tourist route here, to hike the Perito Moreno Glacier – something that Juliette had told us about. She had said it was one of the best days of her life. How exciting! The bus set off at about 7:30 and we were shortly at the Argentinean border. After the two border posts and all the queuing and stamping involved we were off through the golden grassy plains that I had become so accustomed to in my time in Patagonia, towards El Calafate. While trying get comfortable on the surprisingly spacious bus, so I could catch a little nap, I started to feel a nagging ache in my stomach… I attempted to dismiss it for quite a while, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was only getting worse and I was starting to feel nauseous. I got up and moved to the back of the bus and swallowed a couple of pain tabs. The tablets didn’t seem to make a difference, the pain only intensified and I started to get a little worried about the further 4 hours in the bus that I had ahead of me. While writhing at the back of the bus I started to worry about what it could be… Probably not the best thing to do, but I just couldn’t help it. The pain was slap-bang where the pain of appendicitis would be, and I was feeling a little feverish, undressing and redressing my warm layers multiple times, but I hadn’t yet had any vomiting or anything to suggest my gut was unwell. My diagnostic brain, which was supposed to be on holiday dammit, was having to wake up a little and get to work. While trying to self diagnose, something that my mother had said to me in the car on the way to the airport the day I left for this trip was also running through my mind. It was a quote, something along the lines of: “You possess within you, right now, all the strength you need to deal with any adversity that may befall you.” (Yes, the pain was starting to get that bad.) I eventually lulled into a pained, shallow sleep for the last 30 minutes of the trip, and when we arrived in El Calafate it, very thankfully, seemed to have eased a little. The repose was fleeting. Moments after arriving at the hostel the pain had returned - so severe that I couldn’t really stand and I had trouble thinking. The only thought I could really put together in my head was that I needed to get to hospital. The concerned young hosts at the hostel called a taxi and Rich helped me in.  So now it was my turn to be a patient in a place where none of the doctors understood I word I was saying. Even through the pain and distress I was in I could appreciate the poignant parallel to my recently resigned work. After a bit of bumbling around the two doctors that were attending to me in the emergency clinic eventually enlisted the help of a very kind and genial security guard, JJ, who was to double as a competent translator for my consultation and who became a welcomed ally during my stay at the Hospital Distrital Lago Argentino, El Calafate. I was admitted to the Observation Ward due to the concern of appendicitis, and awaited a consult from the Surgeon. As he arrived my panic of the previous hours swiftly left me. There are some people who seem to have an air of competence about them that enter the room before they do. I have no idea what it was about this young surgeon, and he couldn’t speak a work of English either, but immediately I knew things would be OK. JJ was there to help us talk again – and so followed one of my best moments of this debacle. The surgeon was trying to tell me that if it was appendicitis it was still early as my abdomen was still soft. (Appendicitis would cause what is called and “acute abdomen”: the stomach muscles reflexively spasm as you push on the patient’s belly). JJ in his very gently way, trying to be as polite and correct as possible said, “…because now your ABD is still extremely floppy.” That brought a smile to my pale face amidst the pain. My relief at thus far avoiding the prospect of surgery was immense. So after X-rays, blood and urine tests, I was put on a drip which must have had some really lekker drugs in them because for the ensuing hours I drifted in and out of sleep, knowing the pain was there but not being to fussed by it. I was roused only now and then by crying children in the cubicle next to me that came and left, nurses adjusting my drip an taking vitals and the occasional prod of cold hands on my belly. Richard came to visit and brought me some of my things. I was extremely thankful that I had a friend, brand new that he may be, on the outside that was thinking of me. In the morning the surgeon came by again and thankfully my stomach was still…floppy. I was so happy that I didn’t have appendicitis and, even more so, that I was feeling a whole lot better. The pain had retreated to mere niggle and I was sure that the analgesics had been tapered off as I was actually awake. I was infomed that I would be going for an ultrasound in the next hour or so. (Feel free to stop reading if you don’t need to know any more details about my newfound medial issues…) The ultrasonographer immediately saw a rather massive cyst on my right ovary, about 8cm big! I was relived to know what had been causing the pain, but now, what to do about it? I was referred to the gynae that informed me that more tests need to be done and I will likely have to have surgery, but not as an emergency – it can wait for home, he said. Within the next month or so I should probably deal with it.  A rather pale Mel and the ever helpful JJ I paid my bill, under R1200 if you can believe that, said thank you to JJ and all the doctors that helped me, and went to pick up my prescription of some rather hefty Ibuprofen tabs. Despite having been saddled with a diagnosis that would require some intervention soon, I was so happy to be pain free and not on the operating table in a little town far away from all my friends and family. Who would, after all, bring me flowers and chocolate? But I was certainly more than grateful for the care I had received in this little district hospital. I had seen two specialists, had numerous investigations done and within two short days I had a diagnosis. And what’s more, before I went for my ultrasound, Mariana from America del Sur Hostel had come to find me and find out whether I was ok. Despite being a solo traveller there were still people, new and even newer friends, who were considering how I felt and whether or not I needed anything. So now I am having something to eat after my day and a half fast (found a pizza piled high with roast veg, yay!), while listening to “God only knows what I’d do with out you” in Spanish… …and trying to decide what to do now. Yes, it’s sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, and in the end the joke was probably on all of us. On Sunday night after the remainder of our Patagonian family had exited the Park we all met up for dinner and a night on the town. Richard had been telling us for four days about his grandfather's home made Slovakian spirit of some kind that he had brought with him on his travels – “30 years old and 56%” – and had invited us all to try some when we were back in Puerto Natales. Well, insisted rather. I was a little late for our date that had been arranged days before, up in the mountains of the Torres del Paine National Park, something for which Richard was neither able to forgive me for, nor forget. *smiles*. I was more than relieved however that my tardiness had allowed me to escape with only one shot of the potent spirit before Steve, Richard and I went for dinner. Juliette had taken a bus straight from the gates of the park towards El Chalten (sadly for us) so it was just me and the boys.  We enjoyed a dinner with lively conversation and later, joined by Alex, we went to find (probably) the only pub in Natales. The evening progressed, as they do… and ended with walking home at 3 in the morning. Ouch!  Richard, Steve, Alex and me The next day I took it decidedly easy… writing, reviewing photos and planning for the week ahead. I had eventually made up my mind that the next day I would hop across the border into Argentina to visit the little towns of El Calafate and El Chalten and check out their glaciers and mountains.  The houses of Puerto Natales  I also took a bit of time to walk around and take some photographs of all the unusual little dwellings that can be found in this quaint little town. Some exquisitely beautiful with so much attention to detail, others rather ramshackle and hodgepodge. Some looked positively flimsy, so surprising given the blistering cold winters here and notoriously inhospitable Patgonian weather. Walking to the edge of the town I watched as the light faded over the Seno Ultima Esperanza (“Last Hope Sound”) and cormorants flew on and off the poles of an old pier still standing, sticking out of the cold waters.    Dusk over the Seno Ultima Esperanza “The channel’s name comes from the 1557 explorer, Juan Ladrilleros, who came upon it when he was at the end of his tether while searching for the western entrance to the Magellan Strait. He found the strait, but almost all his crew died in the attempt.” ...another crochet convert!  And last, but certainly not least, I was asked by Sam if I would teach him how to crochet (what a question!). He was heading off on a four day ferry trip on Monday evening and wanted a project to keep him occupied and out of the bingo halls. So together we found some really beautiful wool and Sam picked out his colours. We spent some time drinking coffee and eating carrot cake at a favourite spot, El Living, and I took Sam through some crochet basics, getting him started on his first project – a beautiful blue scarf. He picked it up in no time, and I am quite certain that before he docks in Puerto Montt he will be the proud owner have his very own, hand-made, Patagonian woollen scarf. Well done Sam, I can’t wait to see the finished masterpiece!  Now who ever said that crochet is not manly! The Torres del Paine National Park 04/11/2010
Day 1My heart sank as while I was getting all my gear together in the darkness before dawn I heard the rain start. So much for the pristine weather report that we were checking out at Erratic Rock the night before when I was picking up all my rental gear. I decided to dismiss the wet weather remembering the dampening drizzle of our first day on the Otter Trail a couple of years ago – that improved, and so would this!  The bus pulled up outside my hostel and the sinking feeling recurred as I grunted with the effort it took to hoist my oversized pack onto my back. I had only two changes of clothes, but with a tent, sleeping bag and mat, cooking gear and all the food I would need for 5 days it had turned out a little heavier than I hoped for. After about 2 hours the bus pulled through the entrance to the Park. There were herds of Guanaco grazing on the golden grass in the brisk chilly wind, the backdrop of the Andes and even a rainbow at one stage made for the most beautiful picture. That sight however will only remain in my mind as the bus windows were so grimy I didn’t even try to photograph it.  The catamaran on Lago Pehoe It was a cold rather nervous wait at the Lago Pehoe “warf” for the catamaran ride that would take me and the other gathering hikers further into the park to start the trail. Around me I only heard languages that I did not understand, and despite a little time with “Learn Spanish for your Ipod” I was in no position yet to make friends in the local tongue. Thankfully I eventually spotted a small gathering of English speaking travellers and it wasn’t long before I walked over and introduced myself. As the Catamaran set off over the milky blue glacier lake we got to know each other and I was thankful to have a group of people to walk with, a little “Patagonian family” in Juliette’s words.  After docking around midday our team of five hikers set off for the first leg of the trek – Paine Grande to Campamento/Refugio Grey. The great thing was we were all from very different parts of the world – Juliette from Texas, Richard from Slovakia, Steve UK born and living in Sydney, Sandra from Catalonia and of course little South African moi. We had formed our “United States of the World”.  The United Sates - Juliette, Sandra, Steve, me and Richard  I was so exhilarated by the fact that I was in this spectacular park, by the first views of the unfamiliar landscape in front of me and by the thoughts of the days ahead that my huge pack felt like nothing on my back. I was on such a high that the biting wind, icy cold off the glaciers and snow around us, pelting us from the side, and chilly drizzle was never a threat to my spirit. I knew that even if there was a sudden downpour that seemed looming in the skies my mood was unlikely to turn.  Wild Foxgloves  Foreign Fungi - this one is for Kirt Up the first long hill and over the rise we were greeted by the breathtaking view of Lago Grey and in the distance the spectacular Glacier Grey. The lake is an unbelievable milky blue colour – an effect created from all the fine sediment ground from the rock into the ice by the creeping glacier. Floating in this cloudy blue were ice block of all different shapes and sizes.  Lago grey, the distant glacier and the ominous skies We walked into the campsite by late afternoon, and after a whole day of uphill hiking I was sure my pack had doubled in weight. I set it down with a thump of relief. With apprehension I started to put up my little tent on the sand of the campsite: the chill from the glacier lake we were right next to seeped through my layers of clothes in a second. Suddenly the idea of sleeping next to icy waters with only a flimsy tent for shelter did not seem like too smart and idea. When I had erected my tent I was gutted to find that one of the zips was broken! This little "shelter" was going to do no such thing if the threatening rain came and the winds persisted. Needless to say it took me a whole two minutes to pack the broken tent away and make a beeline for the welcoming warmth of the Refugio. My faux disappointment at my inability to camp was brief.  We ate our dinner and spent the evening amused by Juliette learning some local Chilean dances from one of the Refugio hosts, Miguel. After the tiring 11km hike I was so grateful for the bed and shelter from the cold. In seconds I was in a deep slumber. Day 2 We started off at about 8am, the first leg of our walk was thankfully without our packs. We continued further north up the trail towards Glacier Grey. After two hours we reached the front of the immense river of ice and clambered out onto the rocks to get a clear view.  The vast and breathtaking Galcier Grey  The glacier whale I am not sure that I have ever seen something so breathtaking! I will certainly never forget my first sighting of a glacier. I do not posses the command of language it would take to do the views justice, and even the photographs cannot capture it all! We sat for some time taking it all in, hoping we might see some ice crashing off the front of the glacier into the blue waters in front of it. We had heard this thunder once or twice while walking through the forested trail. After some time there was a loud crack! We all quickly scanned the front edge of the ice looking for the falling piece… None. Perhaps it was on the other front edge of the glacier that we couldn’t see from where we were sitting. Then, very unexpectedly, a large dark blue object bobbed up from the waters. My first thought was that we were witnessing the rare sighting of some kind of glacial whale… It was of course a whale of ice, broken of from the part of the glacier under the water. We all exalted in the sighting! We said our goodbyes to Steve who was going to carry on further to walk the circuit trail, and prepared to move on back down the hill.  Gazing out over Glacier Grey   The weather had cleared giving spectacular views as we left the glacier behind us  For the remainder of the day we walked back down the same trail we had come towards Refugio Grande Paine where we would spend our second night. It seemed like a different hike though – the weather had cleared, blue skies and beaming sunshine, with still chilly air around us. After 19 km we ended our day of walking. At the Refugio I prepared some dinner and enjoyed a warm shower, what a luxury! Richard and I celebrated the end of a good day with some wine and lively discussions about life, love and everything else. Day 3 Very chilly early morning start  Frosty scrubland Alarms were set for an early start – today was going to be our most challenging day, and we had to keep to a schedule if we were to make it to our next place of shelter before nightfall. Juliette, Richard and I were walking by 7h15 in the icy Patagonian autumn dawn and for this effort received the pleasure of watching the rising sun light up the mountains in front of us. The frost on the tough scrubland flora persisted for two or more hours into our walk, the puddles were frozen and the mud was crunchy.  Lago Skottsberg at dawn  The wonky bridge into Campamento Italiano The first leg of the walk, along the smaller Lago Skottsberg towards Campamento Italiano, was rather flat helping us keep good time. As we arrived at this way point, a freezing campsite in the forests next to a raging runoff river, we had a hurried breakfast of squashed rolls, stashed our rucksacks and set off for the uphill climb through the scenic French Valley.  Lost in translation Poor Juliette had been fighting an elaborate battle with massive blisters, so she was going to go at her own pace up the valley – we would find her again a bit later on the trail, Richard and I set off on a mission to the top! The first section was pretty hard going, the clambering over rocks and boulders reinforced my gratitude that our packs were lying in the campsite where we would fetch them on the way down again. The trail at this point was marked with little pink ribbons, some of which had been tied around stones. It was as if the mountain was offering itself to us as a gift! And a truly special present it was.  Our special rocky gift  The beautiful autumn colours We followed the river up and up, through forests and clearings, with picturesque views of the river along the way. The trees were turning their beautiful autumn colours, every shade of red, orange and yellow, before they would fall and leave the trees bear for the snowy winter. As we climbed the basin of mountains in front of us grew closer. We saw mini avalanches of snow falling off the dark peaks of Cerro Paine Grande, passed though a clearing of desolate grey rocks and another that looked like a tree cemetery, hundreds of tall grey tree stumps with broken branches.  The view looking down the valley as we climed higher Finally we reached the mirador (view point) for the breathtaking view of the French Valley, a basin of alpine forests encircled by massive mountains for almost 360°. Every little group of mountains were different to eachother, some orange and smooth, others black and jagged. It truly was spectacular and I was so glad to have made it to the top! After a little lunch on a large rock we headed down again.  Elated to have made it to the top of the French Valley  The walk down was great – I felt like I had regained all the energy spent on the hard walk up. Isn’t it great what endorphins can do! Stepping carefully down the often steep trail we eventually arrived at the campsite again to pick up our backpacks and carry on going – we still had another two and a half hours to go! Before reaching Refugio Los Cuernos we came to a beautiful pebble beach on the massive Lago Nordenskjold (there’s a nice Spanish name for you) and spent a little time taking in the almost magical view. Richard tried to teach me how to skip stones along the glassy water, with moderate success.  The pebble beach on Lago Nordenskjold...and one of my favourite photographs of the trip  Sebastian the Incubus fan How happy we were to reach the Refugio! We had walked an impressive 26km and kept going for over 10 hours! My feet were aching and my back a little sore, but I was so elated to have made it and I was unashamedly proud of myself and my Patagonian family. Inside the Refugio I was surprised to hear one of my old favourites playing over the sound system and I spent a little while chatting to the Incubus-obsessed Sebastian, our Chilean Host. Richard, Juliette and I were joined by Alex for some (more) celebration with some great Chilean wine and boisterous conversation. The favourite joke for the day was how I had been so grateful when Richard had leant me one of his trekking poles and I had realised how helpful they were for these hard walks with a heavy pack. He repeatedly enjoyed telling everyone how I was helped by his “magic stick”! That was followed a close second by everyone now referring to the well known hostel Erratic Rock and “Erotic Rack”. Boys! So rude, really! We snuck Alex, who was supposed to be camping, into our dorm room to sleep on the top bed of the triple bunks. It was rather amusing watching him sneak out in the morning, reminding us of the “walk of shame” as we used to call it back in our student days.  Juliette, Richard, Alex and me enjoying some Chilean wine Day 4I was so grateful to have at least a little sleep in and a gentler start to the day. I had decided to join Alex for at least one night of camping despite my broken tent. In order to see the Torres at sunrise, which I had been hoping to do all along, you have to camp at the top campsite as there is no Refugio there. With an ally to do it with I was sure I could make it through one night! I said a temporary goodbye to Richard, and a farewell to Juliette.  Alex surveying the territory So Alex and I set off along the trail hugging the northern shore of Lago Nordenskjold with never ending fabulous vistas and another day of perfect weather. How fortunate we had been with the weather. It seems the beginning of autumn is a perfect time to visit the park – the trails, campsites and Refugios are quieter, the turning trees add amazing colour to the scenery and the weather seemed more stable than the notoriously unpredictable Patagonian atmosphere we were expecting.  Do it yourself holiday photography  Heading towards the next valley we walked through golden, grassy plains and watched a herd of stocky Chilean horses grazing in the field. At midday we stopped for a picnic next to the path. As we entered into the valley we started the steep, steady climb up towards Campamento Torres, the actual Torres remaining elusive the entire way, hiding behind Monte Almirante Nieto. At one stage the path became a little hair-raising having to traverse a steep slope of shale – certainly not where you want to put a foot wrong.  Heading up the valley towards the Torres!   Extreme band-aid We arrived at the lofty campsite in comfortable time and got to work setting up camp. I had to do a little Extreme Band-aiding (always proudly “Madwaleni Extreme”) to patch my tent together. We made some dinner and prepared everything we would need for the pre-dawn wake up we had planned for the next day. We ended the day with a little dark chocolate and some whisky “on the rocks”.  Preparing for the night  Whiskey 'on the rocks' The night was rather chilly, but bearable. I wore almost all my clothes and filled my water bottle with hot water just before bed and tucked it into my sleeping bag with me (thank you Nacho for the tip). The worst thing about the night was that I had a seemingly endless succession of disturbing dreams. The one I thought was real for a long time – water was rushing down the hill we were camping on; I could feel it flowing under the tent and putting pressure on the side of the flimsy shelter. I was so relieved when I finally was roused enough to realise it was another trick of the mind. Day 5 Even Alex's camera was not fully awake When my alarm went off at 5h45 I was actually thankful. It was starting to get a little too cold and I had eventually been discouraged from trying to get more sleep because of the bad dreams! I gave a whistle to wake Alex up in the camp spot next to mine and stiffly put on my trekking pants, trying not to touch the sides of my narrow tent as it was wet with condensation. We stuffed our sleeping bags into our backpacks and set off into the still-dark morning, headlamps ablaze, towards the mirador Torres del Paine.  The clouds light up  The Torres del Paine before sunrise It was a steep 45 minute climb to reach the rocky look out point, but I hadn’t even given my well worked body a chance to decide whether it was tired, sore or stiff. Arriving at the mirador we found a spot to get comfortable and wait for “the show” as the sky turned from black to blue and the clouds began to glow a radiant pink.  Alex making a noise :) We certainly made sure that the few other people at the mirador that morning knew we had arrived; we began to get ourselves organised in the stillness of the morning, puffing out sleeping bags, rustling packets, clanking pots and spoons and starting the gas to prepare our decadent hot chocolate that we had been discussing since the previous afternoon. Realising immediately that we were disturbing the peace we got the giggles, and of course that didn’t make things any quieter. Eventually we got a hold of ourselves and by the time the show started and the sun began to cast its red rays on the three gigantic granite towers we were warm (and quiet) with a mug each of very rich, very yummy hot chocolate in our hands.  My face still betraying the laughing fit (Carlos noticed it the second he saw this picture)  And yes, it really was a beautiful moment. From left to right the towers glowed a brilliant red as they were illuminated, one by one, by the rising sun. The iridescence intensified for a few glorious moments and then slowly the towers began to fade to the pale orange they hold for the remainder of the day. It certainly was a momentary phenomenon and I was so glad to have had the privilege to experience it.  And it fades again  The final day, after packing up my gear, I walked on my own, slowly making my way to the exit of the park, as Alex had decided to spend a further day at Campamento Torres. I enjoyed the time I had on my own and reflected on the unimaginable beauty I had experienced, about the new friends I had made and about how proud I was to have made it through such a challenging trek, how much I enjoyed it! I made a promise to myself that at least every year or two I was going to embark on some or other “adventure holiday” if you will, as it had been such an invigorating experience. I truly felt like I had replenished my gratitude and wonder for life and living during my five days in the mountains.  After some contemplation I pulled out my Ipod for the first time during the hike, found Trapeze Swinger by Iron and Wine and hit play. My heart was a little tender as I thought of how much I missed my Carlo, but on my face was the comfortable smile of five days well lived.  By midday I was sitting on the grass outside the Las Torres Hotel waiting for the bus, propped up against my backpack, gazing at the snowcapped mountains, sipping a Cerveza Austral as I wrote a stack of postcards home. Back in Peurto Natalas I wallowed in the half-bath in my hotel room for a glorious while, then wandered over to Erotic Rack (smiles) to return the rented gear back to Nacho. He loved the plasters still stuck to the little yellow tent!  Nacho and I holding the flag of Magellanes and Antartica Chilena Region The early flight to Punta Arenas was indeed beautiful. From the air I gazed out as we flew over the two massive ice caps that cut Southern Patagonia off from the rest of Chile, making this part of the country accessible only by air or sea, or through Argentina. I caught a glimpse of massive mountain peaks, snow and glaciers through the little aeroplane window… a taste of what was to come. We landed in the modest airport and straight away I could feel the difference in temperature. The cold excited me: a forethought to the wilds of Patagonia!  The vast ice caps of southern Chile  The Andes seen from the air Waiting on the bus a young guy embarked and walked passed me clutching the same guidebook to Chile that I have, in English too. Poor guy, I practically pounced on him… Funny thing really, not being able to speak to anyone for any length of time for a few days. In my seemingly endless time on planes and my short stay in Santiago I hadn’t had many conversations with people. Back home when I was thinking about the fact that I would be traveling alone I didn’t really think that I would ache to talk to people. I was being fiercely-independent-Mel, stubborn as usual about wanting to go it alone. I truly thought, “I will be totally fine with my own company”. Well, as it turned out, by day five I needed to have a conversation, I needed to make a friend. And in a second I decided that it would be this guy! So he was friendly enough and we did the usual traveler conversations about where we were from, going, been etc. I am not ashamed to admit that my heart sank when he revealed that he pretty much had his ongoing travels planned and was busing straight out of Punta Arenas to head to the Torres del Paine National Park, and those plans didn’t include me. Obviously, Mel! Most people have a plan when they travel… My vague plan had been to get a ferry from Punta Arenas to Puerto Williams, the so-called “end of the world” as it owns the title of the most southerly permanently inhabited town in the world. To do or see what there, I wasn’t really sure. There had to be something interesting about a town with that title right? As it turned out though, that was not to be.  Punat Areas and the Magellan Strait. Tierra del Fuego, the landmass in the distance  The bus dropped me off outside “Hostal La Estancia” and I settled into my room. I decided to take a wander through the streets of the town situated on the Magellan Strait, enjoying the small town feel it had and taking in the unusual styles of houses all round me. Unfortunately though the place was dead. Far from the “lively town” described in my guidebook, it was closer to a gelid ghost town. It dawned on me then that it was the Easter weekend – and clearly that was reason enough for things here to grind to a complete halt. So finding nothing to do that I had read up on – visits to museums and restored old houses of the wool barons that pretty much owned the town in the early 1900’s – I went back to my odd hostel, and got into bed.  Topiary, a seemly beloved passtime in Chile  Even the pups were having a chilled out Easter Weekend  Lying there under the covers, I suddenly felt very alone and completely overwhelmed by what I had gotten myself into. I cursed myself for the aforementioned character flaws, had a cry and fell asleep. When I decided to get up after my melancholic siesta I chatted to the hostel owner only to find out that my ferry idea was not going to work as it only left on Thursdays, and I already knew I couldn’t hang around this town for an entire week. So instead I booked myself onto a boat trip into the Magellan Strait to go visit some Chilean “Penguinos”. I made myself something to eat and went back to bed. Tomorrow surely had to be a better day. And it certainly was. With an activity planned we (three other guests in the hostel were also going on the boat trip) were up and eating our simple breakfast while it was still dark outside. With the new company, and remembering the lovely conversation I had had with my Carlo the night before (we love you Skype) my spirits were lifted and I was ready to do some sight seeing!  Boarding the speedboat at sunrise  Discussing novels set in Patagonia We were bussed to a jetty just outside of town and as the sun rose we were helped onto the covered speedboat. Soon we were jetting off across the strait towards the Penguin Sanctuary. The familiar sound of the Beatles, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night…” was playing on the boat’s sound system. The effect was a little surreal.    Most of the Magellanic Penguins had already headed off to the warmer waters of Brazil, but it was still interesting to walk around the frigid island taking pictures of the few remaining birds – hopping in and out of their burrows, chattering and waddling about and generally doing the things that penguins do. These penguins mate for life – after returning from their winter migration the male reclaims his burrow from the previous year and waits to reconnect with his female partner. The females are apparently able to recognise their mates through their call alone. Now and again we heard one of them let out a wholly improbable donkey bray and we marvelled at how such a cute little bird could make such a beastly sound.  After a chilling wait I finally caught a little guy mid-bray!   After an hour or so on the island we got back on the boat and headed towards a smaller island, home to a colony of sea lions. I was totally impressed by the opportunity to watch these blubbery beasts going about their lives a short distance away from us. We couldn’t go onto the island, but the boat hovered close enough to the shore to see the immense adult males thumping chests and scaring away the younger ones if they dared get too close to them. Others were playing and fishing in the waters close to the islands.  Massive Sealions thumping chests (a lot of digital zoom does not a great photo make, but i think you get the idea) After the enjoyable outing we headed back to town. I was very relieved to find a cosy little restaurant where I was able to get some good veggie food into me. I enjoyed quinoa-stuffed marrows while chatting to Sam, a newfound friend, and learning about his cycle touring around Patagonia – brave adventurer!  Finding nothing else open, Sam and I took a walk over to the Punta Arenas “Cementerio Municipal”, which was certainly interesting, as people had suggested. Quietly strolling through its avenues of tall topiary cypress trees, numerous crypts and doted, decorated graves was not only visually intriguing but also rather enlightening. “…this eclectic necropolis reflects the turbulent history of Patagonia in marble and stone, Croatian and Hebrew names mixed with English and Spanish ones and the colossal ostentatious mausoleums of Punta Arena’s wealthiest families overshadowing the modest graves of the immigrant labourers.”   The imaculate topiary I had certainly had a better day and was feeling more confident and excited about the travelling that awaited me. I was already starting to meet other travellers and was realising that loneliness was unlikely to be a problem for much longer. My plans, if you could call my vague ides “plans”, had changed but I was excited about moving on to Puerto Natales and the notorious Torres del Paine National Park. The buses in Chile are something to be admired. If you detest long journeys in cramped stuffy buses, then you certainly have not travelled the public transport in Chile. I was blessed with a front row seat on the top deck of the clean, spacious vehicle, and the three hour drive to Puerto Natales felt like watching an IMAX movie on the rolling Patagonia pampas in an extra comfy, reclining seat. No kidding! The only difference was that is was really real, I was truly exploring Patagonia. Endless golden fields, huge skies and vast Estancias (ranches) with their quaint houses glided by my view. I was even lucky enough to see a gaucho riding through his fields inspecting his herds of sheep.  The road to Puerto Natales  A Patagonian Estancia  The rolling pampas and the mountains of the Torres del Paine National Park in the background I arrived in Puerto Natales and had to drag my luggage around for a while until I settled on a place to stay. Erratic Rock 2 was a little over budget, but I just couldn’t help myself. I had an awesome room, the most friendly and accommodating host Marcellas, Wifi and a great breakfast. I was set to start my planning to trek through the Torres del Paine National Park. First on my list of things to do the afternoon I arrived in town was to attend the talk on the Park given by Erratic Rock – something I had “heard from my friends, not in the guidebooks” as they insist. This climbing and trekking obsessed hostel offer this free service to orientate anyone wanting to walk trough the park. Our talk was given by Nacho who has been guiding in the park for almost 10 years. He made us all laugh as he gave a (exaggerated I’m sure) comic recount of his first tragedy bound hike in the park. All his humorous mistakes resulted in him exhausted, bruised, wet and freezing on the mountain by the very first night. “That night on the mountain” he said in his Spanish accent, “I cried.” He really cracked my up, but more importantly as I suppose was his intention, he got his messages across. So the next day was filled with planning, renting all the gear I would need and packing – paying careful attention to Nacho’s advice. When all was done and prepared I walked over to my best restaurant find thus far in my travels, El Living, to have a final dinner – Quinoa and cashew nut curry (Yum!) - before 5 days of lightweight snakes and camping food. I ended up bumping into Jean-Francois and Marie-Magdelaine, the French couple who had been in the same Hostel and on the same Boat trip as me in Punta Arenas. So we shared a lovely evening together and I left for home with new friends to visit in French Polynesia of all places, and some motherly advice from Marie-Magdelaine to “travel safe and take care of myself”. As I settled down to sleep the tickle of butterflies in my tummy betrayed my nervous excitement. Museo Chileno de Arte Precolumbino 04/01/2010
Not too excited about the prospect of another day of sensory overload in Santiago, I decided to seek solace in a museum or two. Luckily for me the Museo Chileno de Arte Precolumbino was a block away from where I was staying so I didn’t even have to risk another taxi ride. *Smiles!*  The museum is housed in a restored 200 year old building that used to be the old royal customs house. The collection holds thousands of pieces spanning an impressive 10 000 years of history and representing over 100 different pre-Columbian Latin American peoples. What is interesting about this museum is that the pieces were selected more on their artistic merit rather than their historical or anthropological significance, the end result being rather intriguing and a real pleasure to wander around. Fear not – I will not bore you will all the details, but I will share a few of my favourites with you.  Xipe-Totec This creepy looking guy is the god of Life, Death and Rebirth named Xipe-Totec, “our lord the flayed one”. And yes, it gets even creepier. He was widely worshiped by the Aztecs of Mesoamerica (central America) around the time of the Spanish Conquest (1500 to 1900). Every year at springtime this cult was celebrated with a bizarre and cruel ritual in which slaves or captives were sacrificed, their hearts cut out and their bodies carefully flayed to produce a nearly whole skin. This skin was then worn by the priests for twenty days (yes, you read right, TWENTY DAYS) during the fertility rituals that followed the sacrifice. The worshippers would then “emerge” from the rotting, flayed skin symbolising rebirth and the renewal of the seasons, the casting off of the old and the growth of new vegetation. Now that is extreme! “The living god lay concealed underneath the superficial veneer of death, ready to burst forth like a germinating seed.” I think the beautiful image of a germinating seed may just have been tainted for life for me! Surely there were other ways to recreate that symbolism every year…  Trippy Water Child Effigies like this little guy with semi-spherical heads and ecstatic expressions on their faces have been found in many temples of southern Mexico, Guatamala and El Salvador. They are thought to represent a common hallucination the Aztecs had after ingesting teonanácatl (literally "divine mushroom"). They (the trippy figurine or the mushroom, I wasn’t sure which) are sometimes referred to as “water child” because it is small and comes after the rains. Ahh, the mushroom I presume? Anyway… “Swallowing it produces hallucinations of little men who resolve difficulties”. To me he just looks goofed on shrooms. *Smile*  This representation of a Bat-god is a beautiful example of the many funerary urns popular with the Mayan, Aztec, Toltec and Mixtec cultures. (Did they just make that last one up?)  Removing the flesh from the dead and placing the bones in urns was a commonly practiced custom in ancient America. The Mosquito urns were designed to hold the skeletons of the deceased and the effigies modelled on their tops were a way of showing the sex and age of the deceased. (Mosquito as in the Mosquito Culture AD 1200 – 1500. You learn something new everyday, no?)  The Chemamull The dramatic Chemamull statues are larger than life-size and the cleverly lit display emphasises their eeriness. They were important funeral elements of the Mapuche culture, revealed during strictly followed burial rites – apparently a carelessly conducted funeral meant that the spirit of the deceased could be trapped by a witch and transformed into and evil spirit, thus preventing them from becoming a benevolent spirit and watching over the living family.  I loved this statue and how peaceful he looked, hiding inside this museum in a large crazy city. I could totally identify. I particularly like what they had to say about him. “…large stone sculptures, some with supernatural features and others, like this one, imbued with a solemn peace, are impressive for their ability to irradiate the mystery of the sacred.” They probably meant “emanate”… *smiles* And of course, my favourite… Ancient Beanies! Tiwanaku Four Pointed Cap “Clothing was a privileged vehicle for communicating aspects of the social, political and religious world among the pre-Hispanic people of the Andes. Headdresses were particularly significant since aside from being practical or decorative, they identified the individual’s place in the society and his or her ethnic origin. The Andean people made a wide range of hats, caps and head bands, revealing a complex system of distinctions related to the wearers ethnic origin, social status and political power. “The populations living along the coast and in the valleys and deserts of northern Chile also used headdresses for these purposes. Fisherman’s wool turbans displayed the prestige of having access to the textile wealth of their neighbours, the herders of the Bolivian high plains. The Tiwanaku four-pointed cap was a symbol of the political power of this empire. The polychrome designs probably alluded to differences in status among local and foreign authorities. Other headdresses reflected specific economic activities such as the feather headbands of the Arica fishermen, the beret type hats from Pica and the helmets of the caravan traders from Tarapaca and Antofagasta.” I particularly like the “textile wealth” comment. You see, as of late I have been building my woolly wealth!  Sunset over Santiago de Chile  Gathering around a spontaneous comedy show So a day well spent in my opinion. Back in my hostel I was rewarded for my nerdy activities by a rather pretty sunset over the ever-bustling Plaza. The square was still full with some men shouting their sermons to no-one in particular, teenagers snogging on the benches, guys doing some stand-up comedy (I presume) with a laughing crowed gathered around them, various hawkers and artists and photographers and the general mix of Chileans milling about. Maybe Santiago wasn’t too bad after all… But I am still glad that tomorrow the wilderness of the south awaits me! The Sprawl of Santiago de Chile 03/31/2010
After a more than a day of flying and airports and an unexpected, but very welcomed, stay in Beunos Aires I arrived in Santiago. I was extremely proud of myself when I managed to decline all pushy attempts to get me into a taxi and negotiate my way to the bus stop thus, affordably, getting myself into the centre of Santiago city – a terminal called Los Heroes. My recently boosted travel ego was very quickly put back in check however when the taxi driver that took me from Los Heroes to my hostel in down town Santiago very quickly relieved me of CH$ 40,000, about R550! It was a combination of just plain overcharging (taxi meter obviously set to “brand new gringo tourist fresh from the Airport” setting) and a blatant con! After a loud gulp at the price of driving around a few blocks in the city centre I opened my wallet to get out the CH$ 25,250 that the meter requested. I carefully looked at the unfamiliar notes in my wallet and put two 10,000 notes on the consol next to the driver. As I then went through the little bit of money I exchanged at the airport looking for the smaller 1,000’s the taxi driver started shouting elaborately waving the money saying in Spanish that the notes were not right – that I gave him 1,000 not 10,000. Flustered I took them back and took the other two 10,000’s out my wallet and handed them over, sure already that something was going wrong. Believe it or not, the bugger did it again – angrily forcing the notes back towards me as again it appeared I had given him only 1,000’s! Well, now I was pretty sure that he had been switching the notes in the front of the cab then waving his smaller notes back at me! But by that stage I had no more 10,000's left…he had already taken what money I had. So realising I guess that I had no more for him to take he then said “ok, ok you get out now!” So there I was, on the edge of the Plaza de Armas, the centre of Santiago’s down town and the historical centre of the entire country, rather flustered amidst a sea of people busily moving around me. I didn’t even know where my hostel was. The taxi driver had pointed vaguely across the square as he got back in my car so I gingerly head in that direction, luggage in tow. The “Hostal Plaza de Armas” is not the easiest place to find, not really helped by the fact that there are no signs directing you towards it. It is pretty well hidden on the 6th floor of an old building on the Plaza, the front of which is plastered over with sleazy fast food bars where people stand at the front downing cokes and guzzling down greasy hot dogs and chips. I was relieved to eventually find the hostel and get settled into my room – a self catering room on the 4th floor with a view of the Plaza. Sjoe! I was a little poorer, but all in one piece and grateful to have a bed to sleep in.  The building that housed my hostel  The many take out joints crammed into the front of the building  View of the Plaza De Armas from my room  My room in the 'Hostal Plaza De Armas' After an hour or two of bigging myself up I decided to take a walk through the city and headed for the only vaguely green place I could see on the map - the San Cristobal Hill. I got to see the University and walked through the “hip” student area Barrio Bellavista to get to the bottom of the hill and find the funicular to ride to the top. The view from the top was indeed unbelievable, even if it was veiled by smog. Santiago surely must be one of the biggest cities in the world! Its seemingly never-ending sprawl halted only by the mass of the Andes to the east and… well, I don’t think I saw the western end of the city. I enjoyed the perspective this gave me and marvelled at the sheer size of the place, but I knew even then from my less than half a day's experience of the city that it was not a place I would like to stay for very long at all. There at the top of the hill, an enormous Virgin Mary towering over me, I gave a big sigh of relief that I would be flying out of the city to head for the southern wilderness in two days time.   Sprawling Santiago seen from the top of Cerro San Cristobal Santiago itself is a rather unsettling mix of opposites. A cacophony of old and new, old-fashioned and modern, broken and fixed, dilapidated and restored. The old building that housed my hostel was itself an example of this – large spacious hallways and stairwells, an old-school elevator with a chunky brass dial indicating it’s position and an old man sitting inside (taking up half the tiny space) operating the elevator. Yes, it still had and elevator operator… is there a name for this profession? But inside was a little hostel with all the mod-cons, flat screen TV and Wi-fi internet. Crazy really.  The Old and New of Santiago I learned a few other things about the city in my short time there… I learnt for example that there is a never-ending sea of people that flow through its streets in a persistent solid wave. Never in my life have I seen so many people! Also, there are more shoe shops in the 8 blocks south of the Plaza de Armas than there are in the entire expanse of Joburg! No lies! The shoes shops are followed closely in number by Pharmacies and Optometrists. And, in the area I stayed it is impossible to find food that is not artery-clogging, cheese-laden, greasy fried meat or something close. I really had a hard time finding something palatable to eat, let alone vaguely healthy. Also, you can find some really strange little shops in this city – I passed one shop selling only corsets, and another selling only buttons!  The little old Button Shop and the man who has no doubt run it most of his life Santiago is now pretty much functioning as normal after the earthquake that recently hit the country. I think the town of Concepcion was worst hit. Never the less you can still see some of its effects – plaster and tiles missing from many buildings around the city. One or two buildings I passed in my short time there were still surrounded by tape and barriers, crumbling sides testament to the force of the quake. The few people I chatted to that were here at the time said that it was (obviously) a terrifying experience.  Repairs after the earthquake were underway in my building So it has been a busy day in a rather overwhelming city. We’ll see what tomorrow brings! | Archives |
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