EJ's Travels

After a few restful days in Punta Arenas I set off for Buenos Aires, Argentina, the city that never sleeps. Home of the tango!

I fell in love with the city. How could I not with its strong undercurrents of Latin music and dance and… romance. I spent four days walking around and in and out of its colorful and unique neighborhoods taking in the people and the sights and sounds of this bustling city. Street fairs, parks, museums, theatres and milongas (bars where tango is performed) abound. Dinner is served late by American standards, usually 9:00pm or later, and the clubs don´t begin to fill until 1 or 2:00am, finally closing their doors after sunrise. I never did manage to experience the nightlife of Buenos Aires as such. After long days of wandering the streets I could barely stay awake long enough to catch dinner!

My last night in town I finally arranged to catch a tango show at the Museo del Tango with two others from my hostel, Barbara and Francois. Rather than visit one of the touristy and flashy milongas we opted for a more traditional experience, or so we hoped. It was certainly my most memorable evening in BA. Sure, the dancing was mesmerizing, the singing heart felt, but it was the crowd that had us nearly falling off our seats in laughter that we found most entertaining. We were easily the youngest in the audience by at least forty years. In their fanciest evening wear the crowd stared longingly at the performers while mouthing every word to each song from their seats. By the end of the two hour show a few were having difficulty staying awake. One woman sat upright, head bowed, eyes closed, only to spring to life when her dessert was placed in front of her.

Afterwards the performers and a couple dance instructors took to the crowd giving these “old timers” the opportunity to show us young ones that the art of dance is ageless. The years only added to their grace and ease with which they moved across the floor. A few of us were a little more reluctantly dragged on to the dance floor. This is how I met Jose. He was a dance instructor which was made evident in the way he led. Although I may not have looked it, I felt as though I had been dancing tango for years. And so I was convinced to spend my last morning in Buenos Aires letting Jose patiently teach me the rhythm and movement of this sultry dance. I left intoxicated, floating through the streets with a smile on my face and tango pulsating in my heart.

I arrived in Punta Arenas, Chile, with no guidebook, no plan and no Spanish comprehension. I wasn´t intending on including South America in my travels after all. But I did reckon that a chance to explore even a tiny bit of Patagonia on this “forced” stop en route to Africa might be worth some floundering.

I spent one relatively unproductive day wandering in and out of tourist offices trying to gather information on getting to and trekking in Torres del Paine National Park before I decided to try my luck at an outdoor clothing store. I figured someone working there would know something about the outdoors. One of the men behind the counter was a local who, with the help of a coworker from Santiago who spoke a wee bit of English, convinced me I should walk the circuit in the park if time allowed. It sounded like a fine idea to me, now I just needed to sort out the details.

The following morning I decided to move to a new hostel where it seemed I might have a better chance of meeting other backpackers. I arrived just in time for breakfast and was immediately introduced to Pedro, a Chilean who happens to own a business leading group treks in Torres del Paine! Luckily for me, he also spoke English. I was picking his brain for valuable information when an Australian woman joined us at the table. She had just arrived late in the night. After two minutes of conversation and before learning her name, I asked if she would be interested in joining a complete stranger on the 8-10 day trek we both hoped to complete. A few hours later we were on a bus to Puerto Natales, the gateway to Torres del Paine.

I soon came to find out my new trekking buddy, Helen, is a doctor who speaks Spanish fluently. How could I be so lucky?! She was celebrating her 50th birthday with a 3 month holiday… trekking in Patagonia, diving in Belize and skiing in the States and Europe. I love this woman! I could not have hand picked a better companion.

After a night´s rest in Puerto Natales we spent the morning gathering food and securing a tent for me to rent. Another 3 hour bus ride that afternoon took us to Laguna Amarga, followed by another short ride to Las Torres campground where we would begin our trek.

If ever you have seen a visual representation of Patagonia there is a mighty good chance you were looking at the Torres del Paine. These towers with sheer rock faces stretch boldly into the sky. Erosion has painted an array of colors from top to bottom persuading me to believe a few of the towers have been turned on end and dipped in chocolate. Apparently the ever changing weather resulting in strong winds, high clouds and frequent rain prevents many unfortunate souls from ever seeing them. If someone mentions they have been to the Torres mirrador (lookout), the first question asked is always, “did you see the towers?”

Day 1: We decided to spend our first full day in the park hiking to the Torres mirrador and returning to the same camp that night. A warm-up day without our packs. We had been warned about the wind and it didn´t disappoint. Neither of us got much sleep as our tents flapped wildly in the strong gusts. But the wind was yet warm and keeping the rain away for which we were thankful. We crawled out of our tents and were met by sun. Little did we know what a rare treat this would be. We seized the opportunity and set off for the lookout. It was a gentle hike aside from the last 45 minute climb up a boulder field. Thankfully our efforts were not in vain and despite some sprinkles of rain along the way, we joined the fortunate few who are offered a view of the towers in all of their glory. A brilliant start to our journey.

That night I left my tent to stumble to the toilet and was surprised to find the air dead calm.

Uh-oh I thought. The calm before the storm?

Yes, actually.

En route to the lookout

Torres del Paine

Day 2: We woke to rain. This was to become a pattern. It was a mere 4 hour hike to our destination, Camp Seron, but it was slow going as the rain had saturated the already boggy swampland. It was nice to have left the crowds of people behind as we began the circuit around the backside of the park. The sun came out as we reached camp just long enough for us to set up our tents and change into dry clothes. The camp manager, Julio, welcomed me and Helen with a hot cup of tea and homemade doughnuts inside his toasty hut. He was friendly and likeable from the start, obvioulsy enjoying the company in his otherwise solitary quarters. Perhaps he had also appreciated the view…we discovered later on that Julio had himself a small peep hole into the shower we all used! Heck, who can really blame the guy.

It was here that Helen and I first met Jason & Kirsten from Vancouver and Alex, Janine and Eduardo from San Paulo. They were to become our camp buddies for the remainder of the trek along with a handful of others.

The first of many cloudy views ahead

Day 3: Another rainy day on and off to Camp Dickson. When the rain would subside it was immediately replaced by the constant buzz of mosquitoes. I have vivid memories of trying to balance my weight on a precarious log while crossing stream (after stream) with a heavy pack on my back and blasted mosquitoes swarming my face and attacking any bit of exposed flesh on my body. We were happy to call it a day.

This was one of the more picturesque campsites located next to Lake Dickson. Helen and I enjoyed our dinner inside the refugio (some campsites offered hut accomodation as well) and spent a couple of hours by the meager fire trying to warm ourselves and dry our clothes. It was a bit painful when we had to leave the shelter and return to our cold tents, especially because our camp buddies had all decided to spend the night indoors for a little needed comfort. I think they felt a bit sorry for us as well as we said goodnight. I can´t thank Eduardo enough for insisting I take his warm dry fleece with me to my tent that night.

The sun threatening to shine overhead

Moody Camp Dickson

Day 4: Hard to believe I know, but more rain again today. However, the skies did clear intermittently exposing stunning views of the surrounding scenery, making it all worthwhile. We reached Camp Los Perros where we once again set up our already wet tents in wet conditions. Warm and wet is one thing, but warm it was not. And the temperature was growing colder every day as we gained elevation. Talk this night was centered around the long anticipated pass that we would reach tomorrow. We had all heard about the hurricane-like wind and considering the current weather conditions we were all convinced we would encounter snow as well. There was a certain amount of dread in all our faces as we crawled into our tents for the night.

Glacier Los Perros

Jason in a moment of reprieve from the rain [photo by Jason Krupa]

Day 5: As we sat eating breakfast the rain turned to snow. Not a good sign. Helen and I departed camp first. The snow became rain once more and even gave us a small, but much appreciated break in the first couple of hours. The trail was tedious. It was flooded most of the way requiring careful concentration as we gingerly stepped from branch to rock to branch. Just above treeline the wind began to howl and it continued to build the higher we climbed. Unfortunately the next few hours were not so pleasant for me. I was soaked from head to toe (literally) from a mixture of sweat (as I am sure some of you can imagine) and rain and I was ill-equipped for the conditions ahead. In nothing but a light weight synthetic base layer and an even lighter weight rain jacket (with no wind resistance) I was breaking trail through a foot of snow and ice with limited visibility, at times next to zero. I didn´t dare stop to put on my fleece or my hat or my gloves knowing that they were the only dry warm clothes I had once I reached camp on the other side. I was miserably cold, perhaps even a bit hypothermic, and the only thing that kept me going was the realization that I would only grow colder if I stopped moving. I did find a bit of comfort in the fact that I had a trail of friends (2 of which were doctors) behind me so that if I did in fact collapse someone would surely find me. At one point I stopped to wait for Helen and told her I didn´t think it was wise for us to carry on. The conditions only seemed to be getting worse and there was no end to the climb in sight. But she wisely argued we would be even worse off to turn around. I have climbed higher passes and managed in equally unfavorable weather, but my lack of proper gear resulted in a state of panic driven by the belief that I would surely freeze to death on that mountain!

I finally stumbled on to the summit and was still thinking I would never be warm again when Grey Glacier came into view. It took my breath away. Even in my pathetic state I couldn´t help but stop dead in my tracks and stare in amazement. I had never seen anything like it before. It occurred to me it was a bit ironic that I was being held captive by what is essentially a big block of ice considering that is exactly what I felt like in that moment. But it was simply remarkable.

We descended the steep, slippery, snowy trail safely to camp. Upon erecting our tent I crawled into my bag immediately to get warm. Helen eventually coaxed me out of it to get some food in me. The sight that night in the small make-shift shelter resembled that of a refugee camp. A most happy and relieved one.

The view as we set out for the summit

Kirsten crossing a stream behind us [photo by Jason Krupa]

Me approaching the pass (before the wind and snow!)

First views of Grey Glacier

It seemed to stretch on forever

The trail descending the summit

Our pseudo refugee camp at Paso [photo by Jason Krupa]

Day 6: Still more rain to Camp Grey where… the sun finally showed its glorious face! And where we learned that Jason had proposed to Kirsten along the trail (she accepted). This was more than enough cause for celebration with our friends and some Gato Negro (the only wine sold at camp). But first we stepped outside to soak up the remaining rays of warmth and to watch the sun set behind the spectacular foreground where Grey Glacier melts into Grey Lake.

Here the backside gang parted ways uknowingly.

Where Grey Glacier meets Grey Lake

The many peaks of Grey Glacier

And valleys

Sunset at Camp Grey

Iceberg Sunset

Day 7: Helen and I continued on through more rain (a bit redundant don´t you think?) to Camp Italiano. Just when I thought I had had enough a flock of condors circled overhead. For a split second I thought one might swoop down, scoop me up and rescue me from the gloom and doom we couldn´t seem to escape. And then I came to my senses and realized this wasn´t Mordor and we weren´t hobbits destined to destroy the Ring in order to save the world. Regardless, their appearance somehow lightened my mood and gave me the energy to carry on happily.

Along the way

Into the clouds again after a lunch break at Camp Pehoe

Condors!

First sighting of the Cuernos

The wind that night in camp sounded like a freight train. We would hear it first in the distance and listen as it gained speed and velocity before it came tearing through the trees above us. We decided as a result not to spend a 2^nd night there as planned.

Day 8: Instead we opted for a day hike up the Valle Del Frances IN THE SUN (and wind of course)! Then back to Camp Italiano to gather our packs and on to Pehoe Campground to catch the 6:30pm boat to the bus that would take us back to Puerto Natales.

Looking back down the valley

Helen seemingly enjoying the change in climate as well, not to mention the backdrop

Backside of the Cuernos

Another view of the Cuernos

We were wasted after 8 days of trekking, all but 2 in the rain and/or wind. But I don´t think any of us would have changed a single second of it. The more trying an experience, the more memorable. And my last-minute side trip to Chile will not soon be forgotten.

I managed to meet up with Kirsten and Jason back in Punta Arenas for a celebratory and farewell dinner. I couldn´t resist sharing the description of the meal I ate that night… straight out of the menu!

Me with Kirsten and Jason

It was even better than it sounds!

NOTE: all of the above pictures unless otherwise noted were taken by my trekking companion, helen cromb (i had not yet received a replacement camera)

see more of her (and my) photos at: http://ej.smugmug.com