Patagonia

I really wish I knew what to write about Patagonia. I can’t tell you all how many times I have tried to form the words in my head to describe it. But they all fall short.

Quite simply said, I’ve never seen anything like it. Emerald lakes, soaring mountains, endless pampas, and cold (I can’t even think of a good adjective for them) glaciers. In this post, I’ll try to let the pictures do most of the talking that I can’t do. However, my disclaimer must be stated: these pictures do not come anywhere near the real thing. It is a place I hope everyone has a chance to see in person. You can’t appreciate the viewpoints (miradores) unless you’ve fought to get there. It just makes it all worthwhile. I hope you enjoy:

Day 1: Punta Arenas, Chile

Punta Arenas is famous for being a colorful city at the end of the world. It's also famous for it's impressive cemetery, holding the remains of 100s of travelers who died attempting to cross the Strait of Magellan.

Day 2: Puerto Natales, Chile

Puerto Natales is really just the gateway into Torres del Paine, but it is a cool little town. The Seno de la Última Esperanza (Last Hope Sound) provides just a taste of what you're about to see by entering the park.

Day 3: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

Today we faced a 34 kilometer hike to Laguna Verde and Mirador Toro. It offered our first glimpse of the famous Torres--the towers of granite that dominate the area.

Day 4: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

On this day, we managed to hitchhike to our first stop before hiking up Mirador Cóndor. We continued on to Salto Grande and Mirador las Torres. By the end, we could barely walk. Luckily, we were saved by a kind German couple in a rented pick-up truck. Their hospitality has inspired me to find some way to get to northern Germany in the future. They were some of the nicest people I have ever met.

Day 5: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine

We hitchhiked to Lago Grey to see Glacier Grey. Sadly, the boats to the glacier were well out of the budget of two college students. We settled for the view from afar. I'm not complaining at all.

Day 6: Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Puerto Natales, and Punta Arenas

We were unable to move. Seriously. We had walked about 80 kilometers over 3 days. And it was all worth it.

Day 7: Return to Santiago

This was an incredible trip. If you need any motivation to go to Patagonia, talk to me about it. I’ll convince you. Not kidding. I also freely offer my services as a translator. I will accept payment in the form of food and an airline ticket. I also take great pictures of couples and families. I'd do just about anything to go back there someday. But I think my feet will appreciate a little break.

Chao.

A Crazy Few Weeks and a Final 'Thank You'

So it's done. I'm amazed. I arrived safely home yesterday, coming from a sweltering, humid jungle in Peru to 3 inches of snow and ice in Portland. Shocking? Yeah, you could say that.

I had some pretty incredible final 3 weeks, punctuated by some really difficult "goodbye's" and two absolutely fantastic adventures. I also had some time (7 hours) to think in the Starbucks of the Lima airport as I waited for my flight home, so I wrote a bit about how I was feeling. It's still hard to explain what exactly has changed within me, but I know that I have seen some changes--and I've only been home for a day.

In any case, I look forward to seeing you all at some point. I really appreciate your interest and your support as I undertook this not-so little adventure. Although it has come to a close, I can't tell you all how nice it is to know that I have family and friends interested in my life and supporting me with every large and small step.

One final story: my guide through the Peruvian jungle, who you'll read about later, had an endless amount of stories and anecdotes to tell us about Peru. One of them that has stuck with me was his explanation of retribution between people. This isn't retribution in the violent, eye for an eye sense. Quite the opposite. He says that most Peruvians who farm the steep slopes of the Andes always carry 3 leaves of coca with them. When they come upon another person in the road, they present these 3 leaves to the other person and receive a different 3 leaves in return. It could be to ask for help, to start a conversation, or to just to show some manner of fraternity with their fellow man. The great thing is that they always have something to offer because they always give and receive in return.

Unfortunately, I don't think this cultural action is destined for the US; however, I'll offer my own. You have all shown me your support just by reading my blog, sending me e-mails, or communicating with me in some way during the last few months. I'd like to return the favor in any way that I can. If you would ever like travel advice for South America; if you would ever like to know what a Spanish word means and don't want to look it up; if you would ever just like to talk about life or reignite an old connection, please feel free to contact me. And PLEASE, if you ever travel somewhere new and interesting (even if it's just on a cool, hidden hike outside of Portland or some other city), let me know about it.

Our world begs to be explored. I've done my exploring from afar for awhile. Maybe it's time for me to stay a bit closer to home. At least for now. . .

Chao.

Chilean Oktoberfest

There have been various moments that have caused my friends and I to say, "Only in Chile." This place is just that unique, eccentric, and fantastic that it requires such a thought. Last Thursday, we had another incident that really could only have happened the way it did in Chile.

A heat wave has meandered into Santiago in the past week or so, and what better way to fight the heat than with a frosty, delicious beverage. That beverage, of course, would be beer. Cerveza, if you will (or even better, "schop" as they say in Chile). Well, it just so happened that for the past 2 weeks a festival has been going on celebrating beer a few kilometers outside of Santiago. My friend Nate and I decided we better investigate. We had missed out on the actual Oktoberfest by choosing to study in South America, so this would have to be our substitute.

A quick history lesson: in the late 1800s, southern Chile was unpopulated for the most part and, in fact, ruled by the native people. It's cold and rainy, but it has pretty fertile farmland. The Chilean government at the time wanted to start to take advantage of the land in the south. They thought, who would want to live there with the rain and nastiness? The answer: Germans. Obviously, right? The Chilean government initiated a relationship with the German government and began to attract Germans with the promise of land and citizenship. And the Germans came, bringing with them their own culture and recipes. See where this is going?

Back to the present: southern Chile is home to some of the best breweries in South America. I've only sampled a few kinds, and this little excursion offered a great opportunity to sample some more. So off we went. Nate, his friend Kyla, and I met in a Metro station and headed to the central bus station to catch a rural bus. We didn't really know how far out the festival was located, but we had pretty reliable directions. The very friendly bus driver told us not to worry, he'd tell us when to get off. And off we went.

We arrived at the festival around 10:30 at night, after a 45 minute bus ride. There weren't a lot of cars, but we heard German music and saw lots of lights. We walked in and followed signs to the ticket booth. We somehow ended up right in front of the gates of the main entrance where a man was taking tickets. What followed was one of the oddest exchanges I've had in Chile (it was all in Spanish, but I'll write it in English):

Me: Hi, we're looking for the ticket booth.
Ticket Man: Oh, the ticket booth is closed.
Me: Oh no, so we can't buy tickets?
Ticket Man: No, you can. At the ticket booth, but it's closed.
Me: Right, is there any way we can get in though?
Ticket Man: Yeah, but you need an invitation.
Nate: The website says we can just buy tickets and get in. There wasn't anything about an invitation.
Ticket Man: You can buy tickets. At the ticket booth. But it's--
Me: We understand. It's closed. But is there anyway we can get in now?
Ticket Man: Yeah, of course. You just need one of these. (He pulls out a wad of folded pieces of paper from his pocket.)
Me: Ok, are those the invitations?
Ticket Man: No, these are the tickets.
Kyla: Ok. . .so we can get those from you?
Ticket Man: Yeah. Keep this end with you in case someone asks to see your ticket. (He hands us all a ticket, rips off a stub, and looks at us. Kyla just walks in. I pull out my wallet to put it away.)
Ticket Man: Oh, that's $2.
Me: . . .ok. (Nate and I both confusedly hand him the money.)
Ticket Man: Have fun!

It may not sound that weird, but add a foreign language and a lot of awkward pauses and you'll get the idea. In any case, we got in and went straight for the nearest booth, bought a half liter each, and began to wander. There were the standard tents, decorated with ribbon and filled with long tables, as well as a stage and about 30 booths representing different Chilean breweries. (Sorry, no camera for this adventure.) We found out that they would stop selling beer at 11pm, so we agreed to spread out and return with different beers to last us the night. We met inside a tent and began to enjoy. Honestly, it was some of the best beer I've ever had. There was only one other table occupied in the tent, so we began to play some innocent drinking games quietly.

By 12:30, the other table had left and we were alone inside of Chilean Oktoberfest. Soon enough, a security guard came up and told us it was time to leave. We packed up, although Nate and Kyla still had a cup each, and followed him out. On our way out, he turned around and asked us if we had a car to get home. I answered, no, but we'll be fine taking the bus. Our bus driver had told us that the buses run through the night. The guard looked at me confused and said, there aren't any more buses. They don't run here past 11. I told him once again that our bus driver told us there would be a bus. He looked concerned and very clearly said there are no more buses. I live here. I know.

Nate, Kyla, and I looked at each other. He said, ok, hang on. I'll go talk to the owner and see if he'll give you a ride in his truck. He came back a few minutes later and asked us to follow him. We went inside and met the owner who asked us where we were going. We named off all of the neighborhoods we knew of where we could catch a public bus to our houses. He thought for a minute and said no, I don't really want to drive that far. (In his defense, it really was a long way.) We went back outside and did a money check--we only had about $20 between the 3 of us. We found out in the next few minutes that a taxi could cost between $30 and $60, the buses begin running at 5am, and there's a town nearby that might have some way to get us back.

All of the people there were incredibly nice. They didn't care that we were stupid and unprepared and foreign. One man even offered to drive us as far as the next town, where we might have better luck. We crammed into his 5 seat car (3 of us plus 4 more from his family) and off we went. As we turned out of the parking lot, we all saw a lone taxi waiting at the entrance. He rolled up to it and talked with the driver. It would be $30 to take us into the city. We offered our $20, hoping the taxi driver would be as nice as the others.

And he was. We got out of the car, thanked the man profusely, and got in the taxi. 45 minutes later, we were back in Santiago. Like I said, only in Chile--the events, the incredibly kind people, the beer--you just can't find some things anywhere else.

Chao.

Valparaiso one more time

I find myself with just 5 weeks left in South America. Crazy. Just thought everyone should know.

However, my adventures continue for the time being. Last weekend, I went back to Valparaiso for one last time. I feel incredibly drawn to that city. It's a really fascinating mix of so many parts of Chilean culture and cultures from around the world. You can clearly tell that, at one time, it was a busy port. However, times change. Today, it's more of a college town than a port city. It seems that although it has slowed significantly, everyone who passed through it in the past has left a little something--whether that be graffiti, a carving in a bench, a colorfully painted house, or an eccentric little restaurant. I could spend many more days exploring the hills of Valparaiso, but that will have to wait for my next trip to South America. And, yes, there definitely will be another trip someday.

In this little adventure, I traveled with my friend Pat with the goal of seeing a free concert that night. We left the day after Halloween and arrived late in the afternoon. Our exploring began immediately. I took him to one of my favorite places--in Valparaiso and in South America, I think--Cerro Alegre. We took an ascensor to the top and I made the mistake of glancing at the informational plaque on the wall. I read something about a 45 degree angle, built in 1910, and a 500 kilo weight limit. Needless to say, I didn't attempt the math as 6 other people and I crammed into the little car.

We wandered around the hill, talking about the things we have seen in Chile and our hopes for the election that had yet to happen at the time. We turned at random and walked aimlessly for awhile before we ended up at the base of the hill again.

From there, my guide book suggested an "outdoor museum" of murals that was a few blocks away. We headed there and were surprised to find that our favorite mural wasn't even a part of this "museum." That seems fitting, I suppose. The picture is below.

The things written roughly translate as:

"Sooner rather than later, Spring will break out."

"Without you, I am everything."

"Look where everyone looks and see what no one else sees."

By that time, it was getting close to the time for the concert, so we headed to the theater. We grabbed food in a little sandwich shop and found our way into the concert. We found ourselves in the middle of the big crowd, but thanks to our height, had a great view. The concert was really simple, but really cool. Three different guys took the stage at the same time and sat down side-by-side with their guitars. They took turns for the next 2 hours singing one song at a time. It was really cool because they all played a different type of music and sang in really unique ways. While one sang, the other two would tune their guitars or nod along to the beat, and they all seemed to have fun.

After the concert, we met up with some Chilean friends and some of our friends to go to a jazz bar. We relaxed there and went to one more bar before we decided to leave at 4am. However, when we got to the bus station to go to Vina del Mar--the neighboring town where we were crashing on the floor of a mutual friend--one of the Chilean girls we were with suggested that we walk to Vina. Neighboring town is a bit of a relative term. It was at least 8 or 10 kilometers. But off we went at 4am. By 6:30, we were there. And our friend was asleep...before we had asked him for directions. Pat and I just decided to take an early bus back to Santiago. At 7:30, we left Vina for Santiago. I'd say my time in Valparaiso was well-spent, especially considering that each time I've been there, I haven't slept.

Chao.

Mendoza, Argentina

Mendoza, Argentina is one of the mainstays on the travel itinerary for a student studying in Santiago. It lies about 3 hours beyond the border of Chile and Argentina, almost directly west of Santiago, in the wine country of Argentina. I'd heard a lot of mixed reports about it, so my friends and I decided to investigate for a weekend.

The best way--make that the cheapest way--to get to Mendoza is a brutal bus ride over through the Andes mountains with hairpin turns and sheer cliffs to enjoy on the 6 to 10 hour ride (depending on how long you're delayed in customs). We, being Pat, Nate, John, Monica, Emily, and myself, decided to figure out our transportation separately. It resulted in varying bus companies and times, but an interesting travel experience for all. I left around 10:30 pm on Thursday night, and ended up sitting next to a very friendly Australian named Kent. We chatted for awhile--he and his girlfriend were on a 2 month tour of South and Central America--before we attempted to sleep. Easier said than done, to be sure. We arrived at Customs at around 1:30 am . . . 4 hours later, after a long, freezing wait in line, we continued into Argentina.

I arrived in Mendoza around 8:30 am and headed for our hostel--our meeting place once everyone arrived. Nate and Monica--who had chosen a rather sketchy-looking but cheaper mini-bus company--were passed out on the couches already. We talked about our respective experiences crossing the border as our other friends checked-in. Lethargically, we made plans for the day.

We began by doing a simple exploration of the city. It holds about 1 million people, but you wouldn't really know it if not for the expansive bus system. All of the streets are lined with trees whose branches hang over the roads, seemingly creating a system of tunnels through the city. It creates a beautiful, although misleading sensation that you're in a small Argentinean town. Plaza Independencia is the city center with its pair of impressive fountains, and it is surrounded by 4 smaller plazas. Finally, the city gives way to an expansive public park with a man-made lake, public athletic courts, and a maze of roads that connect various fountains and statues throughout the park. We explored the park for a few hours until Pat and John decided to head off for a canopy tour in a canyon nearby. Our energy level definitely couldn't be sustained for the rest of the day, so we found some lunch and headed back to the hostel for a nap.

Four hours later we woke up, found some dinner, and proceeded to drink the night away with the Europeans that were staying in the hostel as well. I slept on a bunk bed in a musty-smelling basement room, but for $10 per night, it served its purpose.

We woke up around 10 to be sure we could find our way to a bike rental agency that provides bikes, water, and a map of the wine country. Our plan was to have a leisurely bike ride through the Argentinean wine country and stop on occasion to expand our knowledge of fine wine. However, our plan was delayed due to the mistake of our taxi drivers who dropped us off not only at the wrong plaza, but in the wrong town too. I don't know how it happened, but after an hour of wandering and asking directions, we were on a bus for the right plaza in the right town.

We rented bikes from one of the most interesting Argentineans I have met--a kind, older man with a big smile and a strong love for wine named Mr. Hugo. He sent us on our way with a map and a list of artisan wine cellars. Our first stop was a factory vineyard, but they were on a break for lunch. We decided not to wait and continued on our way. We ended up at a vineyard about 10 kilometers south called Familia di Tommaso. I risk a cliche by saying it was charming, but it really was. It remains family-owned, has its headquarters in a federally protected historic building, and offers some fantastic wines. We had a pleasant lunch overlooking the vineyards, followed by a tasting and tour. Needless to say, we were hesitant to leave.

However, the time came. We mounted our bikes to head off to our next bodega (wine cellar), but when I tried to pedal, I realized that my back tire wouldn't move. My trusty bike had nearly separated itself from the back tire. The tire was barely attached to the frame, but it remained attached at such an angle that caused the tire to be jammed against the frame. Basically, it was not going anywhere unless it was carried. Our tour guide at the winery offered to call our rental company and have a bike dropped off at our next destination 4 or 5 kilometers away. What followed was a hilarious, although painful, experimentation process that involved me balancing in different ways on the back of Nate's bike. Our guide offered advice at times, but mostly, she just laughed. Eventually, I just volunteered to jog alongside my friends as we traveled to the next vineyard.

When we arrived, we shared a bottle of Torrontes--Argentina's version of white wine. It wasn't great, but Mr. Hugo arrived to save the day and give me a new bike. We left soon after and in more-or-less of a straight line (we had drank a fair amount of wine by this point), we headed to a chocolate and liquor manufacturer. We sampled some liquors and some fantastic chocolate before we headed back to Mr. Hugo's headquarters.

Once we arrived, he invited us to take a seat and placed some glasses and a bottle of wine in front of us. We happily helped ourselves. 5 bottles later, it was getting a bit late in the day. Nate and I looked at each other, and he asked me, "Are you feeling drunk?" Honestly, I answered, ...No. "Me either" he said. He leaned back and looked into Mr. Hugo's kitchen. He smiled and told us that Mr. Hugo took a half-full bottle of wine, put a funnel in it, and filled the rest up with water. Although Mr. Hugo lost a bit of credibility with that move, it certainly adds to his odd character. As we left, he thanked us and wished us luck in our travels and studies before waving us goodbye as we got on the bus.

We got back and I immediately had to take off running for the bus station. My bus left at 10:50 and I got there 4 minutes before. I settled down for another long ride through the Andes, but the wine, even if it was watered-down, made my return trip a lot more enjoyable.

Chao.

Pichilemu

As I have come to find, living in a big city can really come to wear on a person. These past few weeks have been particularly difficult, especially given the fact that I haven't had the time to leave Santiago until this past weekend. In the weeks before, I suffered through midterms--as we all do--but midterms in a foreign language, foreign format, and foreign grading system add a special "feel" to an already difficult task. Needless to say, the past two weeks were not my favorite here. However, this past weekend, I made up for lost time.

My friend, Analiese, organized a trip to a little beach town called Pichilemu, so I got together with Pat--a frequent comrade on my adventures--and we bought a $15 2-man tent to share for the weekend. Tent adventures would follow, but first we had to get there. Analiese did all of the planning and reserved us a campsite that was supposedly 20 minutes from the beach. However, taking the Chilean concept of time into account, it turned out to be a 30 to 40 minute walk. However, it had a great view of the town and the hills around it.

After our 3 hour bus ride from Santiago, we set up camp and headed down to look around the town and check out the beach. It's odd how similar it is to the Oregon coast with big green, forested hills sloping down to a wide beach with a barrier of grass-covered dunes in between. And, of course, the Pacific remains the Pacific. We stayed on the beach for a few hours before heading to a market to buy some supplies--also known as cheap beer--and returning to our campsite.

That night, we cooked and sat around talking. Our fire died, but we kept sitting, watching headlights come over the coastal mountains and wind down the road into the town. When the moon rose over the mountains, our poetic night was rather complete.

Pichilemu is more famous for its waves than its beach. The cove it is built around is positioned at an angle that catches the force of the wind coming from the south. It makes for a bad place for boats, but a great place for big waves. Cassiel and Analiese decided to take surf lessons while Pat and I decided to explore the town and return to laugh as they repeatedly crashed into the water. Pat and I were rewarded with our little exploration with some really cool photo ops and burritos! It sounds weird, I know, but Mexican food is kind of exotic in Chile. Within Santiago, it's one of the most expensive types of food, so when we saw the cheap burrito sign, you can imagine how excited we were.

We returned to find the girls still surfing. And falling. How can you not laugh when something like this happens?

When they tired of surfing, we found a taxi and headed to Punta de Lobos a few kilometers south. It's supposedly the best surfing spot in Chile. The waves are definitely big. But we were content with taking a nap on the beach. Call us what you will: lazy, scared, ...normal. You'd probably be right.

We were going to stay and watch the sun set from the top of the bluff by the beach but caught a ride with the girls' surf instructor who had gone to Punta de Lobos after the lesson. We all piled into his old VW van for a bumpy ride home. We returned to our campsite to find that 18 other people had set up camp as well. We were lucky to have the first night alone, but this turned out to be an interesting cultural experience, to say the least. They were all workers in a bread factory in Santiago, and the company had sponsored their trip to the beach. They were all extremely nice. Whether it was South American hospitality, their high level of inebriation, or a combination of the two, I don't know. What is important is that they gave us Chilean Twinkies, which I sadly report are nowhere near as good as US Twinkies. However, they did invite us to sit, talk, and dance. And so it went that we partied the night away with the Chilean bread makers.

The next morning, we woke up, broke camp, and headed back for Santiago. Pichilemu was a much needed escape. I can't recommend a nap on the beach enough. It was perfect. Combined with the hospitality of the town--Chileans would smile and say "Hola" whenever they walked by and even offered to give us directions before we could even ask--it made for a wonderful recharge.

And our tent survived the weekend, although I have a feeling it won't survive many more.

Chao.

Please pardon the political rant...

I think that we, as North Americans, sometimes forget how much our actions have an impact on the world. Small things, such as grocery shopping, have a far broader impact than I originally thought. It took an experience like this to make me realize it too. That might be the scariest part.

We are known, even in the most respected media sources of South America, as "The Empire." To be fair, this has just as much to do with our government's foreign policy as it does with unrestrained multi-national companies; in both cases, our role as consumers and voters is a large one.

As a North American abroad, no one expects me to defend my government if I disagree with it, but I am faced with repeated questions of "Why?" My honest answer, sometimes, is that I just don't know. I don't know why our country acts as it does or why certain presidents and representatives get elected. I love our country, but having a look at it from outside puts a unique perspective on it. A perspective that, at times, I'm not very proud of.

Many North Americans may think that we're on an island, that we can insulate ourselves from the world, be it with foreign policy or a 20 foot-high wall. It's easy to forget the things we don't see each day: the immigration, the foreign debt, and the reliance that our government's policy has created. We are a part of this world, whether we like it or not.

And as countries gain power, especially economic power over the failing US economy, they begin to realize that the US and its citizens are not invisible. In Chile, a policy has been implemented that charges US and some European citizens a $100+ fee to simply enter the country. In many cases, North Americans have become livid that they must pay to simply step onto Chilean soil. However, is this any different from US customs and visa fees? Hardly. As difficult as it is to swallow, it makes me smile to know that by this measure, perhaps, we will come closer to a mutual respect that has been lacking for so long.

So this is my plea: when the elections come, please vote for the candidate that you think will have the best impact on our country and on the world as a whole. As most of you have voted in a few elections before, I'm sure that you have heard it repeatedly and I hope you put it into action. But having experienced our impact and seen what our reputation has become abroad, I just need to clear my conscience. This is my first presidential election, and I don't want to live on an island anymore.