Ok its time. I had coffee this morning, and a grande iced Americano just now. A grande is huge for what you usually get around here café-wise. That’s the most coffee in a day I’ve had in a long while. In summation, I am thoroughly wired, which I’ll need to help me recap the last…3 weeks? 4 weeks? I lost count I suppose. I have to say, I have missed the feeling of satisfaction I get after writing this stuff down, no matter how (not) enlightening or beautiful my prose might be. A little hurdle I face now is where the hell to start; but a little push from my dose of roasted beans….and I’ll jump it. I’ll just start where I last left off. The bus.
Lots of bus. We left off on a Sunday morning before the Trek. At this point in the story, we were fairly comfortable and confident in our plan for Torres Del Paine. It was budget and we still needed a few things, but we were calm enough. We crossed back into Chile later that Sunday, and unfortunately had to ditch some of our cheese and salami. Upon arrival to Punta Arenas, we rushed to the local mall to gather what items we knew we needed. I received kick in the gut of coldness when I got off the bus--an indication that my hip sweatshirt and second hand windbreaker weren’t gonna cut it. So, I got a cheap warm jacket from the ‘Jumbo’--the Chilean kmart/walmart. We made it to our hostel later that night. We gave each other nervous wide eyed looks as we passed the campers out front; they had there shit together--legit tents, little stoves, hiking boots, water proof gear, and it all looked so natural to them, and they (I swear…) gave us a little smirk that said, ‘silly gringos. of course, this is how you do it, how’re you plannin’ on makin’ it?’ This, I think, was the beginning of our swiftly deleting all previous plans and ideas, and the start of our scramble to truly prepare ourselves. The hostel was great, the four of us had a room to ourselves. We owe our re-planning of the Trek to the dueno of the hostel. He gave us the same look as the campers did outside, and promptly, and nicely, informed us of the best way to tackle Torres del Paine. We were to go the opposite direction as we had originally planned. We were to pack food for all meals, because the food at the refugios are fantastically overpriced. He suggested buying a stove. We were to postpone our bus to Puerto Natales, and stay there another night, and bus to the mouth of the Park the morning after the next day. We were to use this time to gather the now-known-to-be-necessary-items. So we got to it. We changed our bus tickets to Puerto Natales that night, and got some food. The next day involved deliberation over what to buy--especially what to do about food--and where to go to get it. (Remember, our packs include living essentials for the following 2 weeks as well, for Buenos Aires etc, so they were quite full. Plus, I had Madison’s sleeping bag, which I swear must be a relic from 4th grade in-house sleepovers....very bulky, heavy, and as I would discover, not warm) Several stores later, after buying much of what we needed, we found the store we should have bought most everything from in the first place, but so it goes. We finally found a tarp to cover our sad tent. The stove idea was replaced with the following plan--use the firepit at the campsite the first night, treat ourselves to a refugio dinner the second, and rent a stove the third night. The bus left for Puerto Natales Monday afternoon, and we arrived there a couple hours later, feeling quite confident once again. The dining that night was memorable--‘Afrigonia’ was the place--a blend of African and Patagonian fare. I had the mint rack of lamb; it was fantastic.
Bright and early the next morning, we were off. The road turned to dirt for the last half hour, and we de-boarded to pay the entrance fee. Then, one more final bus to the first camp.
The great Patagonian gods smiled on us--the weather was beautiful, and remained that way for most of our journey, except for some light rain during the last two nights. I took a lot of pictures, sometimes to the point of Shay giving me the whip to speed up. Of course Shay is always on a serious mission while hiking, with eyes on the prize, and the prize is always ahead. Still, I wish I had taken more. I guess there is value in lacking pictures that might spoil any grand and beautiful memories that I have all to myself.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
travel back in time...the bus to puerto montt
we backpedal a few weeks to a Sunday morning before the Trek, I wrote this one on the bus. ...and I'll continue to catch you all up.
People are beginning to wake up now. An old lady with a spray bottle of air freshener, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some beauty product sways in the aisle beside me, waiting to use the bathroom; she hollers at someone down the aisle. I cringe, it’s not the hour for hollering yet, and I feel protective of Shay as she tries to sleep beside me. It’s flat as far as the eye and I can see, just cold dirt with scattered dry brush. Late last night I peeked out the window and followed a dainty power line, just taller than this bus, as far I as could before it turned a hard left--we drove on. When I woke the sun poked through the closed blinds, which I liked because it was pretty and warm. Now, after a stretch of clouds, it hits my face again. But it passes, and the clouds stretch on, a single plane reaching the horizon. They look flat on the bottom, but I’m sure they billow on top. That lady just sprayed her air freshener generously in and around the bathroom, I can smell it seven rows up. I can feel that my eyes are bloodshot, but it’s not from the spray. This is our second straight morning on a bus, we’ve been on about 38 hours now, except for a three hour break in Porto Montt, and a few short leg-stretchers. We are deep into the Argentinean side of Patagonia, I think. We are on route to Punta Arenas, where we will stay the night in a real bed. Our bus takes us through Argentina because there is no other way; there are no Chilean roads that connect Porto Montt to Punta Arenas. Not bus worthy, anyway. Despite the bloodless tingly toes, the dry eyes, and mild claustrophobia, I would choose this bus trip over a flight in a heartbeat. We’ve seen truly beautiful landscape through these tall, albeit a bit dirty, panes of glass. It was stretches of vineyards at first, which gave way to verdant pastureland, dotted with magnificent wooden homes, and --less magnificent-- farm shacks. Regardless which home it was, happy cows come from Chile (….not California). The pasture led us to Porto Montt. Beyond Porto Montt, we dove headlong into Patagonia; the windy road threaded us between rivers and waterfalls, which threaded themselves through lush dense jungle forest. Behind a stretch of heavy grass, a sheer rock cliff towered, directly out of which grew deep green trees and vines; they covered the cliff face, so only in patches could we see its steel grey color. We crossed the Chile/Argentina border around 6 last night, and drove on. We have even enjoyed a few onboard picnics, the most recent one comprised of salami, gruyere, and a bottle of Concho y Toro’s red blends. It helped us sleep. Its about 8:20 am now, on Sunday, and we arrive around 20:00. We will have a good nights rest in Porto Arenas, and gather last minute items, like warmer clothes, and a tarp if we can find one. Yes, these should not be last minute items, but this is a budget trek full of ‘I forgot this at home!’ and ‘shit, I should have brought that!’. From Punta Arenas, we bus north to Puerto Natales. We had to bus further south than we are going--its just the only way. From Puerto Natales, there is a regular connecting bus north to the mouth of Torres del Paine. Then, we start our trek. We have a twenty dollar tent from ‘Jumbo’ (a Chilean k-mart), and again, we hope to find a tarp we can throw over it if it rains--we’re not confident that the tent is waterproof. We brought the warmest clothes we have. I forgot my old ski jacket shell and layers (…full of ‘shit, I should have brought that!’s) so I picked up a used waterproof layer for ten bucks at a second hand store. I have a sweatshirt, but like I said, we’ll get some last minute warm-me-uppers. The girls bought hiking boots; Greg has his leather Timbaland boots, but they’re the kind built for fashion over function. I have my trusty tennis shoes, from my city college tennis days. This is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and National Geographic says so. No crappy tent, tennis shoes, skinny wallet, or 3 day bus trip will stop us. The glaciers might though.
People are beginning to wake up now. An old lady with a spray bottle of air freshener, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some beauty product sways in the aisle beside me, waiting to use the bathroom; she hollers at someone down the aisle. I cringe, it’s not the hour for hollering yet, and I feel protective of Shay as she tries to sleep beside me. It’s flat as far as the eye and I can see, just cold dirt with scattered dry brush. Late last night I peeked out the window and followed a dainty power line, just taller than this bus, as far I as could before it turned a hard left--we drove on. When I woke the sun poked through the closed blinds, which I liked because it was pretty and warm. Now, after a stretch of clouds, it hits my face again. But it passes, and the clouds stretch on, a single plane reaching the horizon. They look flat on the bottom, but I’m sure they billow on top. That lady just sprayed her air freshener generously in and around the bathroom, I can smell it seven rows up. I can feel that my eyes are bloodshot, but it’s not from the spray. This is our second straight morning on a bus, we’ve been on about 38 hours now, except for a three hour break in Porto Montt, and a few short leg-stretchers. We are deep into the Argentinean side of Patagonia, I think. We are on route to Punta Arenas, where we will stay the night in a real bed. Our bus takes us through Argentina because there is no other way; there are no Chilean roads that connect Porto Montt to Punta Arenas. Not bus worthy, anyway. Despite the bloodless tingly toes, the dry eyes, and mild claustrophobia, I would choose this bus trip over a flight in a heartbeat. We’ve seen truly beautiful landscape through these tall, albeit a bit dirty, panes of glass. It was stretches of vineyards at first, which gave way to verdant pastureland, dotted with magnificent wooden homes, and --less magnificent-- farm shacks. Regardless which home it was, happy cows come from Chile (….not California). The pasture led us to Porto Montt. Beyond Porto Montt, we dove headlong into Patagonia; the windy road threaded us between rivers and waterfalls, which threaded themselves through lush dense jungle forest. Behind a stretch of heavy grass, a sheer rock cliff towered, directly out of which grew deep green trees and vines; they covered the cliff face, so only in patches could we see its steel grey color. We crossed the Chile/Argentina border around 6 last night, and drove on. We have even enjoyed a few onboard picnics, the most recent one comprised of salami, gruyere, and a bottle of Concho y Toro’s red blends. It helped us sleep. Its about 8:20 am now, on Sunday, and we arrive around 20:00. We will have a good nights rest in Porto Arenas, and gather last minute items, like warmer clothes, and a tarp if we can find one. Yes, these should not be last minute items, but this is a budget trek full of ‘I forgot this at home!’ and ‘shit, I should have brought that!’. From Punta Arenas, we bus north to Puerto Natales. We had to bus further south than we are going--its just the only way. From Puerto Natales, there is a regular connecting bus north to the mouth of Torres del Paine. Then, we start our trek. We have a twenty dollar tent from ‘Jumbo’ (a Chilean k-mart), and again, we hope to find a tarp we can throw over it if it rains--we’re not confident that the tent is waterproof. We brought the warmest clothes we have. I forgot my old ski jacket shell and layers (…full of ‘shit, I should have brought that!’s) so I picked up a used waterproof layer for ten bucks at a second hand store. I have a sweatshirt, but like I said, we’ll get some last minute warm-me-uppers. The girls bought hiking boots; Greg has his leather Timbaland boots, but they’re the kind built for fashion over function. I have my trusty tennis shoes, from my city college tennis days. This is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and National Geographic says so. No crappy tent, tennis shoes, skinny wallet, or 3 day bus trip will stop us. The glaciers might though.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
