I think it’s safe to say that if you’re “lucky” enough to know my blog address, I consider you more than just an acquaintance; and thus, you probably know me well enough that the next four statements won’t come as a surprise. 1.) I’m not a city gal. 2.) I like to run or get some sort of daily exercise, and I try to maintain a balanced, healthy lifestyle. 3.) I’m basically a tidy person. And 4.) I’m relatively conservative, especially compared to others my age. So now, I will elaborate.
1.) According to the latest statistic, Santiago – as the fifth largest city in South America – has a population of 6,061,185 inhabitants, which is more than one-third of the country’s total population. I was generally aware of this before coming to live here, which augmented my anxieties. The city sprawls vastly, nearly to its geographic limitations – the Andes Mountains to the east and hills to the west. The city center is like any other metropolitan area with tall, closely-spaced buildings and multitudes of people, clad in business attire, tourist apparel, or blankets. Smells range from fragrant flowers and trees, fried food sold from street carts, putrid urine, and dog poop from the many stray dogs wandering about. Thankfully, I do not live in the city center, nor do I have to frequent it. Ñuñoa is still part of the city, however, so I hear traffic well into the night, I have to hold tightly to my belongings when walking about, and houses and apartment buildings are gated for security purposes. These next three weeks will certainly be a character-building experience.
2.) That city description transitions well to my next point. Before moving, I also feared that I would not find places to run here in Santiago, but fortunately that has not come to pass. There is a park relatively close to where I live which provides some trails for me to use. It is simply a corridor between opposing directions of traffic on a busy street, so it is by no means as pleasant as running through the Fall Creek trails of Ithaca, the Putah Creek trails of Davis, or my own private running courses home on the farm, but it certainly beats what I had in Reus. I also pass many people taking advantage of these paths, either running or biking, so I don’t feel like I stick out like a soar thumb, as I did in Reus. I’ve even seen several women running.
Nonetheless, I still decided to join a gym. I can go there when I want something different to do. I can lift weights, and there are spinning classes, which, for those of you that have kept up with my blog know, I took a liking to in Reus when my running options were limited. I went to my first spinning class the other day. The gender spectrum weighed heavier on the female side, and many seemed more interested in flirting with the instructor than in working out. But, I just let them attend to their business, and I attend to mine.
And finally, as many of you understand or can at least imagine, with an active lifestyle comes a healthy appetite. I consider my food preferences to be wholesome. I’m glad to be out of the pork-laden diet that I had in Spain and into a culture where fruits and vegetables are fresh and readily available. But, I don’t think Lony completely understands my metabolism. She has frequently made comments to me about how I should be careful about not getting fat. It has actually occurred enough that it’s getting pretty annoying, but I’m doing my best just to bite my tongue.
3.) I don’t consider myself a messy person. Sure, usually my desk has its piles, running clothes may hang on a doorknob, and toiletries may sit on the bathroom counter instead of in the medicine cabinet, but I have never considered my room/apartment messy because of these things, just “lived in.” It has become apparent however, that Lony doesn’t like things out of place. Under the agreement of my rent, I get a bedroom for myself and a bathroom to share with the other student, but Lony insists on doing the cleaning, and she does it compulsively – daily. I often return to my room to find that shoes have been moved from the floor to my closet, windows and/or curtains have been opened or closed, toiletry items have been put away, and dirty laundry set aside has been taken away and then returned clean (which I suppose is not a bad thing.) I’ve learned that I can’t keep a book sitting on the coffee table, my water bottle in the kitchen, or my running shoes next to the door, as all will be moved if left out of place for too long. I have supposed that I could just talk to her, but I’m passive, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, and I figure it is her house after all. Nonetheless, my desk was “organized” the other day after a cleaning spree, and having things moved on my desk is one of my biggest pet-peeves, so I may have to talk to her about that. I know she’s not doing this with malicious intentions; she just has her idiosyncrasies, just as I have mine.
4.) I try to be a diplomat. I don’t like talking about politics or other controversial issues, but when the subjects arise, I try to look at both sides of the coin. Even if I do have an opinion, I generally keep it to myself, as I consider it my own business. But if someone requests a stance, I’m usually on the conservative side of the line. Although, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have moderate or even liberal tendencies from time to time.
I’ve discovered that Lony’s tendencies are generally conservative too. We’ve discussed how we don’t understand some of the modern fashion trends, the appeal towards cosmetic surgeries, and – pardon the expression – the crap that’s on TV. Nevertheless, a couple issues have come up where, in fact, her tendencies are more conservative than mine, and I find myself biting my tongue. For example, she doesn’t understand our generation’s fascination with computers. That’s fine. However, one night she expressed some opinions on the progression of women into the workplace. It could have been that I wasn’t understanding everything she was saying, but it seemed like she was blaming high divorce rates and the downfall of family values to the fact that women are not staying home, having babies, and then caring for them 24/7. I didn’t really know how to respond to her being a 26 year old, single woman, wandering the world for a year alone, with plans of beginning a doctorate program in a year and then furthering a career in agriculture – not traditionally a field for women. I think I just shrugged my shoulders, pretended not to understand, and waited for the conversation to die as I wasn’t in the mood for a debate.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Cultural Observations
1.) People. Even in my short amount of time here, I have encountered many friendly people. From the families that open up their homes as hostels and welcome strangers, to wait staff in restaurants that patiently describe a menu item when I don’t recognize the word, to subway workers that lead me in the right direction when I’m having trouble finding my connection, I have not felt like an interloper here in Chile. Lony has gone beyond what I consider status quo for a landlady in helping me feel comfortable and settle in, asking what kind of foods I like, providing me with city maps, and even driving me places to help me get my bearings. Denise’s mom has been very supportive, checking in with phone calls from time to time and inviting me for visits. And two Cornell graduates now living in Quillota recently gave me a tour of the university agriculture experiment station there, where one of them works, and welcomed me into their home for the midday meal. True, there have been occasions where I’ve encountered less pleasant people, like the group of women that didn’t give me an inch on the sidewalk, requiring me to step into the mud the sprinklers left behind, and the people that knocked me around with their bags on the subway, but I will set them aside as exceptions to what seems to be a congenial people.
2.) Food. During my last trip here in Chile, I learned that there is an assortment of delicious, characteristic food to enjoy. Three typical Chilean foods that I particularly favor are empanadas, humitas, and pastel de choclo. Empanadas are a type of pastry filled with meat, seafood, vegetables, or cheese. Humitas are like Mexican tamales except they are not filled with anything; they are simply corn mash baked in the husk. Finally, pastel de choclo is perhaps best described as a corn (choclo) and meat casserole. The corn is made into a mash with the meat baked inside.
The produce here is also exceptional. A Chilean salad consists of deliciously red tomatoes and onions, and though no tomatoes can compare to my dad’s tomatoes (and no, I’m not just saying that), these, I must admit, are pretty darn good. I haven’t had a bad piece of fruit yet either. The bread, however, leaves much to be desired. To my Chilean friends reading this, I apologize for my criticism, but the little round rolls resemble cardboard, especially after the fresh breads I ate in Spain. Although, so far, that’s the only food I can criticize here.
3.) Style. Even on these hot Santiago days, most of the women I see are wearing long pants or perhaps long skirts. Sarah and I ventured out on a walk one morning wearing shorts and t-shirts and did not encounter any women wearing the same. I don’t know if shorts are inappropriate for women; certainly we saw men wearing them, so maybe they are considered masculine apparel? Nevertheless, even though the women refrain from showing off their legs, there is no hesitation in wearing low-cut blouses.
4.) Public affection. It happens. Especially on Valentine’s Day? Stay tuned.
5.) Seasons switched. As I am in the southern hemisphere, it is summer time again. It seems a little strange to be in the month of February and experiencing 90 degree temperatures and 15 hour days, but I’m not complaining. It is a dry heat, so it essentially feels like summer back home in the Central Valley, just at the “wrong” time of year.
6.) The environment. In the south of Chile, the sky is a brilliant blue, the air fresh, and billboards remind people to protect environmental resources and the quality of life provided by Mother Nature. Sadly, however, in a city as large as Santiago, positioned as it is between mountain ranges, air quality is bound to be poor. In the evening, I can see the Andes Mountains from my bedroom window, only about 30 miles away, but during the day, they are often completely obscured. I have been impressed, nonetheless, with the recycling bins I’ve seen in Santiago. It is uplifting to see that efforts are being made to preserve and prolong resources. Although, I have also been discouraged that, despite prudent placement of garbage cans throughout parks and along streets, I still see far too many people blatantly littering.
7.) Police. The symbol for the police (carabineros) is a picture of two rifles crossed in the shape of a letter “X”. I just find that a little aggressive.
8.) Tourism. Tourism is a significant contributor to the Chilean economy. Because many of the tourists are from the United States, England, and Australia, many local artists, restaurant staff, and others in tourist industries are at least familiar with the English language. Also, local artists are often quite willing to accept U.S. dollars rather than pesos, as they can usually make money in the exchange. The value of the peso has risen since the last time I was here two years ago; nevertheless, things are still generally cheaper here than in the U.S.
9.) Smoking. Yes, my ranting about smoking continues. Unfortunately, Lony smokes in the apartment sometimes, but I can generally keep my room from smelling as long as I close the door. Smoking is permitted in malls, most restaurants, and other public places, but I have in fact discovered a fair number of restaurants and businesses with non-smoking signs or at least non-smoking spaces. I guess I’m just spoiled, having lived in the two states where smoking in prohibited in all public places.
10.) Sex sells. Frankly, I find this disgusting, and though I know it is the same in the U.S., perhaps it is the fact that I’m living in a big city where advertising abounds that this has become more apparent to me recently. I wonder if the number of young mothers I have seen has any correlation to these blatant messages barraging the city.
11.) Driving. I thought the people in New York honked their horns a lot. Here, if a driver is not rolling into the intersection – even if the light is still red – then he is bound to get a horn honked at him. And speaking of red lights, people think nothing of running them. Rush hours are hectic, and I’m quite content being on my two feet or using the subway. I have used the buses a little. My first time using them, I boarded the correct number but in the wrong direction, so at the end of the line, I had to pay again to go back the way I wanted to go in the first place. That was frustrating.
At intersections where one direction of traffic is stopped, one will often see people walking amidst the cars selling newspapers, flowers, or produce. Other people may be out washing windshields, and I’ve also seen cheerleaders in acrobatic act and boys juggling – all with the hope of collecting coins from the waiting drivers. They just have to be careful that when that light turns green, they’re out of the way of the impatient drivers ready with their hands over the horn.
12.) “Odd” jobs. I can’t help but notice the jobs I see people doing here that one would never see someone doing in the U.S., merely due to high labor costs. For example, it is not uncommon for people to housekeepers and gardeners. In grocery stores, companies station employees with their products to hand out samples, answer questions, or advertise the company. On buses, a driver can concern on his job – driving – while an attendant cares for the passengers. It was, in fact, when riding on a bus that I made note of this cultural observation. The trip was made comfortable because I knew the driver was concentrating on the road and because the attendant was taking care of the other business. And I thought to myself, “If only we could ‘afford’ jobs like this in the U.S.!” Instead, labor costs are so high that we do whatever we can to mitigate the costs, whether it be investigating in harvesting equipment, downsizing a company, or moving jobs overseas. Surely, the quality of life for many would improve if they had work, crime would probably be reduced, teenagers would be less likely to get into mischief, and perhaps we all would appreciate our service industries that much more!
12.) Public affection. No, I haven’t forgotten that I’ve already mentioned this one. Parks – I figured. Buses – I’m not surprised. Museums – Give me a break!
2.) Food. During my last trip here in Chile, I learned that there is an assortment of delicious, characteristic food to enjoy. Three typical Chilean foods that I particularly favor are empanadas, humitas, and pastel de choclo. Empanadas are a type of pastry filled with meat, seafood, vegetables, or cheese. Humitas are like Mexican tamales except they are not filled with anything; they are simply corn mash baked in the husk. Finally, pastel de choclo is perhaps best described as a corn (choclo) and meat casserole. The corn is made into a mash with the meat baked inside.
The produce here is also exceptional. A Chilean salad consists of deliciously red tomatoes and onions, and though no tomatoes can compare to my dad’s tomatoes (and no, I’m not just saying that), these, I must admit, are pretty darn good. I haven’t had a bad piece of fruit yet either. The bread, however, leaves much to be desired. To my Chilean friends reading this, I apologize for my criticism, but the little round rolls resemble cardboard, especially after the fresh breads I ate in Spain. Although, so far, that’s the only food I can criticize here.
3.) Style. Even on these hot Santiago days, most of the women I see are wearing long pants or perhaps long skirts. Sarah and I ventured out on a walk one morning wearing shorts and t-shirts and did not encounter any women wearing the same. I don’t know if shorts are inappropriate for women; certainly we saw men wearing them, so maybe they are considered masculine apparel? Nevertheless, even though the women refrain from showing off their legs, there is no hesitation in wearing low-cut blouses.
4.) Public affection. It happens. Especially on Valentine’s Day? Stay tuned.
5.) Seasons switched. As I am in the southern hemisphere, it is summer time again. It seems a little strange to be in the month of February and experiencing 90 degree temperatures and 15 hour days, but I’m not complaining. It is a dry heat, so it essentially feels like summer back home in the Central Valley, just at the “wrong” time of year.
6.) The environment. In the south of Chile, the sky is a brilliant blue, the air fresh, and billboards remind people to protect environmental resources and the quality of life provided by Mother Nature. Sadly, however, in a city as large as Santiago, positioned as it is between mountain ranges, air quality is bound to be poor. In the evening, I can see the Andes Mountains from my bedroom window, only about 30 miles away, but during the day, they are often completely obscured. I have been impressed, nonetheless, with the recycling bins I’ve seen in Santiago. It is uplifting to see that efforts are being made to preserve and prolong resources. Although, I have also been discouraged that, despite prudent placement of garbage cans throughout parks and along streets, I still see far too many people blatantly littering.
7.) Police. The symbol for the police (carabineros) is a picture of two rifles crossed in the shape of a letter “X”. I just find that a little aggressive.
8.) Tourism. Tourism is a significant contributor to the Chilean economy. Because many of the tourists are from the United States, England, and Australia, many local artists, restaurant staff, and others in tourist industries are at least familiar with the English language. Also, local artists are often quite willing to accept U.S. dollars rather than pesos, as they can usually make money in the exchange. The value of the peso has risen since the last time I was here two years ago; nevertheless, things are still generally cheaper here than in the U.S.
9.) Smoking. Yes, my ranting about smoking continues. Unfortunately, Lony smokes in the apartment sometimes, but I can generally keep my room from smelling as long as I close the door. Smoking is permitted in malls, most restaurants, and other public places, but I have in fact discovered a fair number of restaurants and businesses with non-smoking signs or at least non-smoking spaces. I guess I’m just spoiled, having lived in the two states where smoking in prohibited in all public places.
10.) Sex sells. Frankly, I find this disgusting, and though I know it is the same in the U.S., perhaps it is the fact that I’m living in a big city where advertising abounds that this has become more apparent to me recently. I wonder if the number of young mothers I have seen has any correlation to these blatant messages barraging the city.
11.) Driving. I thought the people in New York honked their horns a lot. Here, if a driver is not rolling into the intersection – even if the light is still red – then he is bound to get a horn honked at him. And speaking of red lights, people think nothing of running them. Rush hours are hectic, and I’m quite content being on my two feet or using the subway. I have used the buses a little. My first time using them, I boarded the correct number but in the wrong direction, so at the end of the line, I had to pay again to go back the way I wanted to go in the first place. That was frustrating.
At intersections where one direction of traffic is stopped, one will often see people walking amidst the cars selling newspapers, flowers, or produce. Other people may be out washing windshields, and I’ve also seen cheerleaders in acrobatic act and boys juggling – all with the hope of collecting coins from the waiting drivers. They just have to be careful that when that light turns green, they’re out of the way of the impatient drivers ready with their hands over the horn.
12.) “Odd” jobs. I can’t help but notice the jobs I see people doing here that one would never see someone doing in the U.S., merely due to high labor costs. For example, it is not uncommon for people to housekeepers and gardeners. In grocery stores, companies station employees with their products to hand out samples, answer questions, or advertise the company. On buses, a driver can concern on his job – driving – while an attendant cares for the passengers. It was, in fact, when riding on a bus that I made note of this cultural observation. The trip was made comfortable because I knew the driver was concentrating on the road and because the attendant was taking care of the other business. And I thought to myself, “If only we could ‘afford’ jobs like this in the U.S.!” Instead, labor costs are so high that we do whatever we can to mitigate the costs, whether it be investigating in harvesting equipment, downsizing a company, or moving jobs overseas. Surely, the quality of life for many would improve if they had work, crime would probably be reduced, teenagers would be less likely to get into mischief, and perhaps we all would appreciate our service industries that much more!
12.) Public affection. No, I haven’t forgotten that I’ve already mentioned this one. Parks – I figured. Buses – I’m not surprised. Museums – Give me a break!
Trip to the South
In Chile, the beginning of February, in terms of seasons, is like the beginning of August in the northern hemisphere. Universities are still on summer vacation, and in fact, it is typical for many – no matter what their line of work – to take off the month. Santiago, being an inland town in a central valley, much like California’s Central Valley, experiences hot, dry temperatures during the summer; and thus, people flock to coastal towns and points south for relief from the suppressive heat and poor air quality. Given these circumstances, my work at the university was put on hold until the end of the month, so Sarah and I, too, ventured from the city to enjoy some nature beyond.
Ever since my last trip to Chile two years ago, I have wanted to return for if nothing more than a visit to the national park of Torres (Towers) del Paine. There was no time for a voyage to such southern latitude during my previous trip, but I promised myself that someday I would return to Chile and journey south to the park considered one of the most scenic in the world. It is also one of the newest parks in South America, formed only in 1959 and not reaching its present size of 450,000 acres until the 1970’s. It boasts 155 miles of hiking trails, scenery ranging from lakes to mountains to glaciers, and a diversity of flora and fauna, including 25 species of mammals and 115 of birds. How convenient that Sarah, another nature enthusiast and wildlife biologist by trade, would be there to accompany me! So, two days after our arrival in Santiago, we found ourselves back at the airport and on a plane to Punta Arenas, the southern-most city in the world, on the Chilean side of Patagonia.
Aside from our carefully-packed backpacks of camping gear and our flight booked six months in advance, our trip was a plan-as-you-go adventure. As we approached landing in Punta Arenas, we peered out the window at the green scenery and the crisp waters of the Straits of Magellan below us. Eager to get off the plane we were a bit disappointed and might I also say a bit alarmed when the pilot made a sudden pull upward making our ears plug and our stomachs drop. We never did learn what was the issue, but after the rough landing, we were just happy to set our feet on the ground. A very friendly woman at the airport information booth provided us with some valuable insight into what our next steps should be, and then we waited outside for a bus to the next major town to the north: Puerto Natales. While we waited, a nice man in uniform asked if we needed help. We told him no, that we were just waiting, and eventually a line formed behind us. Coincidentally, the person directly behind us was from Sacramento, and he was the first of many other foreigners we encountered during our time in the south. Throughout our stay, we met others from California, Hawaii, Alaska, Massachusetts, Alabama, and two people that attended Cornell. We also met people from Chile, Argentina, Germany, Australia, Russia, Canada, England, Israel, and South Africa. It didn’t take long for us to realize that the south of Chile is a popular destination for people worldwide.
After a three hour bus ride, we arrived in Puerto Natales, the final stop before the park, but still a few hours down a long, gravel road. Sarah and I stayed the night in a hostel in Puerto Natales before leaving for the park the next day. In fact, the locals are quite accustomed to park-goers raiding their supermarkets of light-weight, high-energy foods, garbage bags (to use as rain gear), and toilet paper. Sarah and I stocked up on enough food to sustain us on our trekking venture – as we were told that food costs a pretty penny in the park – but not too much as to add excessive burden to our packs. We ate a hearty meal at a restaurant that night and slept well knowing that the next few nights would not be nearly as comfortable.
Up early and on another bus, we bounced further north on a gravelly road. The trees along the road and beyond grew at an angle, adapted that way from the often gusty winds. Cattle which were supposed to be fenced sometimes roamed freely, and occasionally men were seen on horseback, their dogs trotting alongside, as they tried to round-up their runaways. We took a 10 minute rest stop at a convenience store where the windows were plastered with stickers from around the world, including a familiar green one that read “Ithaca is gorges.” It was one of very few structures we saw along the way. Finally, we made it to our anticipated destination. As we entered the park, we noticed some charred vegetation from the fire that occurred there the year before. We also observed the fearless guanaco – a type of llama native to Chile – casually eating by the roadside and paying no attention to the buses rushing passed them. After paying our dues in the park office, we caught a transfer van to the first camp site. The site was grassy, well-maintained, and had a view of the peaks of the towers. We set up camp, and we were quite happy with what would be our dwelling place that first night. When we later saw the hotel that was nearby, we boasted to ourselves that it was for sissies.
Now, some people I have since talked to looked at me with a second glance when I told them that Sarah and I left our things at the campsite before going for our day hike on the “W” trail (so called because the four day trek is in the shape of a “W”.) Of course, we did not leave behind anything valuable at the campsite, but upon beginning the uphill hike, we were very happy to not have our packs. Others were similarly prudent, so we figured if there was a cruel soul out there aiming to steal a tent, the likelihood of him selecting our’s was slim.
At this point, the pictures perhaps tell a better story, but I will fill in the details. On that first day, Sarah and I hiked the 9.5 kilometers to the base of the Towers. It was surprisingly warm and sunny when we began, which was contrary to every story I had heard about the weather in the park, but as we made the final, steep, rocky ascent to the base of the towers, the cloud cover increased. With each unsteady step, we just kept our sights on the spectacle that we would soon behold. People on their way down told us it was well worth the effort, even though we had no intention of turning back early. And then we crested. The three towers for which the park is named were before us. The sheer rock was bare but all around them was snow. The lake below is not done justice by the pictures. Its turquoise presence is the result of glacial melt. And just minutes after we marveled at those three towers completely unobscured and took our pictures, the clouds started to roll in, and we felt very lucky for our fortune. The people that arrived after us would not take home the souvenir photos that we would. And so, after some refueling, we made the 9.5 kilometer trek back to camp.
When we returned, a slight rain made the evening a little inconvenient but by no means detrimental. We made conversation with a German girl camping nearby who was swearing at the difficulty of the day’s hike. Later, Sarah and I mused on what she was expecting, but of course, at the moment, we just agreed with her that it was tough. And then, after our showers, Sarah and I both crammed into her one-person tent and fell asleep to the pitter patter of sprinkles.
Our second day in the park was a 16.5 kilometer hike with backpacks to our next campsite. All the while we had the blue waters of Lago Nordenskjöld to our left, the radiantly red Notro flowers lining the trails and the back side of the Cuernos (Horns) to our right enticing us of what we would witness in the day to come. We drank the water directly from the flowing rivers derived from glacial melt, as it is customary for hikers to do. Finally, we arrived at camp tired after the last 5.5 km of incessant uphill climbing, and we didn’t have the luxury of showers at our final destination. Nonetheless, we did have the rushing French River – another glacial melt waterway – to refresh us when we arrived.
Initially, Sarah and I had planned Day 3 to be somewhat of a resting day, but in actuality, it didn’t turn out to be such. Our camp was at the base of the “W” in the middle. The goal of the day was to view the Cuernos, but the point from which to view them seemed arbitrary. Some people from Australia said there was a look-out point just a few kilometers up the Valle Frances So, leaving our packs behind, we headed off that morning for our view. It was another gorgeous day, and when we reached the look-out point about which we were told. It was impressive. We were amidst a 360 degree panoramic view of sheer marvel. The Paine Grande mountain range was on one side, blanketed in glaciers. When a piece of the glacier broke away, we might have thought we were hearing thunder if it wasn’t for the sky being completely devoid of clouds. The Cuernos were to our other side – their layers of rock a colorful medley. And though this was the previously predicted point of return, upon encountering three hikers from Israel pressing on from there to see the back side of the Towers, I decided to go on with them while Sarah returned to camp. It was then another 4 kilometers or so of trail hiking and then an unknown distance of trail blazing. We were literally climbing up rocks fallen from the sides of the mountains, and looking down into the spaces between them at the blackness beyond, I had flashbacks of the man hiking in Utah a couple years back who had to cut off his arm with a pocketknife in order to escape a rock slide. It was not the kind of thought one likes to have at such a time, but I took a little bit of comfort in that at least I wasn’t alone and that also I was in the company of a doctor. We pushed on through heat – from the sun reflecting off the light grey rock – and hail when an occasional cloud passed overhead. When we finally reached snow level, we could see the back side of two of the towers, and we decided that was enough for us. A few other brave souls were trekking on, but at that point, we were already dreading the downhill hike and wishing for a cable car down. At one point on the way down, I tried bracing myself on a sizeable rock that proved unstable. Again, premonitions of a pocketknife escape haunted me, and I turned to the side just to time to dodge the falling rock that fell a few feet and then broke into several more rocks. Thankfully, when I returned to Sarah at camp, I was tired but no worse for wear. But, the plan had been to finish the day at the next campsite another 7.6 kilometers away, so we strapped on our packs and made our way. I was grateful that the trail was relatively flat. By the end of the day, I figured I’d hiked about 25 kilometers. When we arrived, the lakeside campsite – freckled with dozens of mushroom tents – looked like a paradise, complete with a rainbow. I took a hot shower and then slept soundly despite the howling wind that rolled in after sundown.
We were in the final pass of the “W”. On our fourth and final day of hiking, Sarah and I set out to see Glacier Grey under a brilliant blue sky. The light above and the clear waters of the lake below made for some beautiful reflections. With every descending step closer to the glacier overlook, however, Sarah and I became ever more wary of the upward hike we would have on our way back, but we tried to keep things in perspective with our minds set on the sight we would soon behold. And it was truly amazing when we arrived under the radiant sun. After that view, we didn’t much mind the climb on the way back. Nonetheless, we were sore upon arriving back at camp. Eighty two kilometers in four days was a lot of hiking, and there was only one thing to do after a workout like that. Reminiscing back to the days of UCD cross country and track, Sarah and I headed down to the lake and soaked up to our knees in that nearly freezing water. We couldn’t stay in the water for more than a minute at a time, and we laughed like hyenas at the pain, but the next morning, when there was no stiffness to be felt, we both agreed that the torture the evening before had been worth it.
And when we woke that fifth and final day, it was raining. It was the only day that we experienced a steady rain throughout our stay, and we were thankful because as we thought back to some of the trails, they would have been ten times more treacherous under wet conditions. We had breakfast and then took a catamaran across the lake to the ranger station where we would catch our bus out of the park. Another American girl called us posh for taking the catamaran, as she was opting to take a meandering trail to the station, but given the weather conditions, we just considered ourselves sensible. From the ranger station, there was a short hike to a waterfall, which we made. There was no one else there when we arrived, but after a while, a park ranger arrived, flashed his badge at us, and told us we were getting to close to the falls. So, we stepped away, but we’d already had our fun, as one can see from the pictures.
When we caught our bus, we were subject to the odors of those who had gone the week without showering, but we tried to take our minds off the displeasure by viewing the ñandu (Chilean ostrich) out the window. Back on the gravel road to Puerto Natales, we were all humored by the huge herd of sheep on the road and how the bus was helping to move them. Surprisingly, no sheep, dog, or person on horseback got hurt. We stayed that night in the same hostel in Puerto Natales only to catch a bus to Punta Arenas the next morning. Our flight out wasn’t for another day, but we had heard rumors of a penguin colony, so we were eager to see if, in fact, we could work that into our itinerary. That afternoon, we made another two hour drive down a long, gravel road to the Otway Sound penguin colony, boasting over 8,000 penguins. They were pretty cute waddling around, showing no fear of the crowds of people parading the roped-off circuit.
Our final day in the south Sarah and I spent walking around Punta Arenas, where we encountered many Americans in the artesania, splurged on some tasty chocolate after a week of simple camp food, and visited the cathedral where the local wool trade was exhibited in the padding of the priest’s seat. There were some delays to our flight back to Santiago that afternoon, but we made it back safely. We pushed our way through the “taxi vultures,” as Sarah wittily called them and arrived at home just after midnight. It was a long, tiring week, and discovering that my pocketknives had been stolen out of my checked backpack angered me to the point of not being able to sleep, despite my exhaustion. But, I mellowed out the next day when Sarah and I browsed through our pictures and recounted our unforgettable adventure.
For pictures, go to my Shutterfly website. There are three folders: Puerto Natales & Punta Arenas, Torres del Paine, and Otway Sound Penguin Colony. Enjoy!
Ever since my last trip to Chile two years ago, I have wanted to return for if nothing more than a visit to the national park of Torres (Towers) del Paine. There was no time for a voyage to such southern latitude during my previous trip, but I promised myself that someday I would return to Chile and journey south to the park considered one of the most scenic in the world. It is also one of the newest parks in South America, formed only in 1959 and not reaching its present size of 450,000 acres until the 1970’s. It boasts 155 miles of hiking trails, scenery ranging from lakes to mountains to glaciers, and a diversity of flora and fauna, including 25 species of mammals and 115 of birds. How convenient that Sarah, another nature enthusiast and wildlife biologist by trade, would be there to accompany me! So, two days after our arrival in Santiago, we found ourselves back at the airport and on a plane to Punta Arenas, the southern-most city in the world, on the Chilean side of Patagonia.
Aside from our carefully-packed backpacks of camping gear and our flight booked six months in advance, our trip was a plan-as-you-go adventure. As we approached landing in Punta Arenas, we peered out the window at the green scenery and the crisp waters of the Straits of Magellan below us. Eager to get off the plane we were a bit disappointed and might I also say a bit alarmed when the pilot made a sudden pull upward making our ears plug and our stomachs drop. We never did learn what was the issue, but after the rough landing, we were just happy to set our feet on the ground. A very friendly woman at the airport information booth provided us with some valuable insight into what our next steps should be, and then we waited outside for a bus to the next major town to the north: Puerto Natales. While we waited, a nice man in uniform asked if we needed help. We told him no, that we were just waiting, and eventually a line formed behind us. Coincidentally, the person directly behind us was from Sacramento, and he was the first of many other foreigners we encountered during our time in the south. Throughout our stay, we met others from California, Hawaii, Alaska, Massachusetts, Alabama, and two people that attended Cornell. We also met people from Chile, Argentina, Germany, Australia, Russia, Canada, England, Israel, and South Africa. It didn’t take long for us to realize that the south of Chile is a popular destination for people worldwide.
After a three hour bus ride, we arrived in Puerto Natales, the final stop before the park, but still a few hours down a long, gravel road. Sarah and I stayed the night in a hostel in Puerto Natales before leaving for the park the next day. In fact, the locals are quite accustomed to park-goers raiding their supermarkets of light-weight, high-energy foods, garbage bags (to use as rain gear), and toilet paper. Sarah and I stocked up on enough food to sustain us on our trekking venture – as we were told that food costs a pretty penny in the park – but not too much as to add excessive burden to our packs. We ate a hearty meal at a restaurant that night and slept well knowing that the next few nights would not be nearly as comfortable.
Up early and on another bus, we bounced further north on a gravelly road. The trees along the road and beyond grew at an angle, adapted that way from the often gusty winds. Cattle which were supposed to be fenced sometimes roamed freely, and occasionally men were seen on horseback, their dogs trotting alongside, as they tried to round-up their runaways. We took a 10 minute rest stop at a convenience store where the windows were plastered with stickers from around the world, including a familiar green one that read “Ithaca is gorges.” It was one of very few structures we saw along the way. Finally, we made it to our anticipated destination. As we entered the park, we noticed some charred vegetation from the fire that occurred there the year before. We also observed the fearless guanaco – a type of llama native to Chile – casually eating by the roadside and paying no attention to the buses rushing passed them. After paying our dues in the park office, we caught a transfer van to the first camp site. The site was grassy, well-maintained, and had a view of the peaks of the towers. We set up camp, and we were quite happy with what would be our dwelling place that first night. When we later saw the hotel that was nearby, we boasted to ourselves that it was for sissies.
Now, some people I have since talked to looked at me with a second glance when I told them that Sarah and I left our things at the campsite before going for our day hike on the “W” trail (so called because the four day trek is in the shape of a “W”.) Of course, we did not leave behind anything valuable at the campsite, but upon beginning the uphill hike, we were very happy to not have our packs. Others were similarly prudent, so we figured if there was a cruel soul out there aiming to steal a tent, the likelihood of him selecting our’s was slim.
At this point, the pictures perhaps tell a better story, but I will fill in the details. On that first day, Sarah and I hiked the 9.5 kilometers to the base of the Towers. It was surprisingly warm and sunny when we began, which was contrary to every story I had heard about the weather in the park, but as we made the final, steep, rocky ascent to the base of the towers, the cloud cover increased. With each unsteady step, we just kept our sights on the spectacle that we would soon behold. People on their way down told us it was well worth the effort, even though we had no intention of turning back early. And then we crested. The three towers for which the park is named were before us. The sheer rock was bare but all around them was snow. The lake below is not done justice by the pictures. Its turquoise presence is the result of glacial melt. And just minutes after we marveled at those three towers completely unobscured and took our pictures, the clouds started to roll in, and we felt very lucky for our fortune. The people that arrived after us would not take home the souvenir photos that we would. And so, after some refueling, we made the 9.5 kilometer trek back to camp.
When we returned, a slight rain made the evening a little inconvenient but by no means detrimental. We made conversation with a German girl camping nearby who was swearing at the difficulty of the day’s hike. Later, Sarah and I mused on what she was expecting, but of course, at the moment, we just agreed with her that it was tough. And then, after our showers, Sarah and I both crammed into her one-person tent and fell asleep to the pitter patter of sprinkles.
Our second day in the park was a 16.5 kilometer hike with backpacks to our next campsite. All the while we had the blue waters of Lago Nordenskjöld to our left, the radiantly red Notro flowers lining the trails and the back side of the Cuernos (Horns) to our right enticing us of what we would witness in the day to come. We drank the water directly from the flowing rivers derived from glacial melt, as it is customary for hikers to do. Finally, we arrived at camp tired after the last 5.5 km of incessant uphill climbing, and we didn’t have the luxury of showers at our final destination. Nonetheless, we did have the rushing French River – another glacial melt waterway – to refresh us when we arrived.
Initially, Sarah and I had planned Day 3 to be somewhat of a resting day, but in actuality, it didn’t turn out to be such. Our camp was at the base of the “W” in the middle. The goal of the day was to view the Cuernos, but the point from which to view them seemed arbitrary. Some people from Australia said there was a look-out point just a few kilometers up the Valle Frances So, leaving our packs behind, we headed off that morning for our view. It was another gorgeous day, and when we reached the look-out point about which we were told. It was impressive. We were amidst a 360 degree panoramic view of sheer marvel. The Paine Grande mountain range was on one side, blanketed in glaciers. When a piece of the glacier broke away, we might have thought we were hearing thunder if it wasn’t for the sky being completely devoid of clouds. The Cuernos were to our other side – their layers of rock a colorful medley. And though this was the previously predicted point of return, upon encountering three hikers from Israel pressing on from there to see the back side of the Towers, I decided to go on with them while Sarah returned to camp. It was then another 4 kilometers or so of trail hiking and then an unknown distance of trail blazing. We were literally climbing up rocks fallen from the sides of the mountains, and looking down into the spaces between them at the blackness beyond, I had flashbacks of the man hiking in Utah a couple years back who had to cut off his arm with a pocketknife in order to escape a rock slide. It was not the kind of thought one likes to have at such a time, but I took a little bit of comfort in that at least I wasn’t alone and that also I was in the company of a doctor. We pushed on through heat – from the sun reflecting off the light grey rock – and hail when an occasional cloud passed overhead. When we finally reached snow level, we could see the back side of two of the towers, and we decided that was enough for us. A few other brave souls were trekking on, but at that point, we were already dreading the downhill hike and wishing for a cable car down. At one point on the way down, I tried bracing myself on a sizeable rock that proved unstable. Again, premonitions of a pocketknife escape haunted me, and I turned to the side just to time to dodge the falling rock that fell a few feet and then broke into several more rocks. Thankfully, when I returned to Sarah at camp, I was tired but no worse for wear. But, the plan had been to finish the day at the next campsite another 7.6 kilometers away, so we strapped on our packs and made our way. I was grateful that the trail was relatively flat. By the end of the day, I figured I’d hiked about 25 kilometers. When we arrived, the lakeside campsite – freckled with dozens of mushroom tents – looked like a paradise, complete with a rainbow. I took a hot shower and then slept soundly despite the howling wind that rolled in after sundown.
We were in the final pass of the “W”. On our fourth and final day of hiking, Sarah and I set out to see Glacier Grey under a brilliant blue sky. The light above and the clear waters of the lake below made for some beautiful reflections. With every descending step closer to the glacier overlook, however, Sarah and I became ever more wary of the upward hike we would have on our way back, but we tried to keep things in perspective with our minds set on the sight we would soon behold. And it was truly amazing when we arrived under the radiant sun. After that view, we didn’t much mind the climb on the way back. Nonetheless, we were sore upon arriving back at camp. Eighty two kilometers in four days was a lot of hiking, and there was only one thing to do after a workout like that. Reminiscing back to the days of UCD cross country and track, Sarah and I headed down to the lake and soaked up to our knees in that nearly freezing water. We couldn’t stay in the water for more than a minute at a time, and we laughed like hyenas at the pain, but the next morning, when there was no stiffness to be felt, we both agreed that the torture the evening before had been worth it.
And when we woke that fifth and final day, it was raining. It was the only day that we experienced a steady rain throughout our stay, and we were thankful because as we thought back to some of the trails, they would have been ten times more treacherous under wet conditions. We had breakfast and then took a catamaran across the lake to the ranger station where we would catch our bus out of the park. Another American girl called us posh for taking the catamaran, as she was opting to take a meandering trail to the station, but given the weather conditions, we just considered ourselves sensible. From the ranger station, there was a short hike to a waterfall, which we made. There was no one else there when we arrived, but after a while, a park ranger arrived, flashed his badge at us, and told us we were getting to close to the falls. So, we stepped away, but we’d already had our fun, as one can see from the pictures.
When we caught our bus, we were subject to the odors of those who had gone the week without showering, but we tried to take our minds off the displeasure by viewing the ñandu (Chilean ostrich) out the window. Back on the gravel road to Puerto Natales, we were all humored by the huge herd of sheep on the road and how the bus was helping to move them. Surprisingly, no sheep, dog, or person on horseback got hurt. We stayed that night in the same hostel in Puerto Natales only to catch a bus to Punta Arenas the next morning. Our flight out wasn’t for another day, but we had heard rumors of a penguin colony, so we were eager to see if, in fact, we could work that into our itinerary. That afternoon, we made another two hour drive down a long, gravel road to the Otway Sound penguin colony, boasting over 8,000 penguins. They were pretty cute waddling around, showing no fear of the crowds of people parading the roped-off circuit.
Our final day in the south Sarah and I spent walking around Punta Arenas, where we encountered many Americans in the artesania, splurged on some tasty chocolate after a week of simple camp food, and visited the cathedral where the local wool trade was exhibited in the padding of the priest’s seat. There were some delays to our flight back to Santiago that afternoon, but we made it back safely. We pushed our way through the “taxi vultures,” as Sarah wittily called them and arrived at home just after midnight. It was a long, tiring week, and discovering that my pocketknives had been stolen out of my checked backpack angered me to the point of not being able to sleep, despite my exhaustion. But, I mellowed out the next day when Sarah and I browsed through our pictures and recounted our unforgettable adventure.
For pictures, go to my Shutterfly website. There are three folders: Puerto Natales & Punta Arenas, Torres del Paine, and Otway Sound Penguin Colony. Enjoy!
Monday, February 20, 2006
Second Stop - Santiago
After 14 hours on an airplane, I was glad to finally land in Santiago that second day of February, 2006. Being an overnight flight, I managed to be tired enough to sleep most of the way, but in no way was it a comfortable sleep in the sitting position. Upon passing through customs and collecting my bags, I was greeted with a familiar face. My friend Sarah from California arrived earlier that morning and was waiting for me. Having acquired a sum of vacation time from work, she decided to spend it on 3 weeks in Chile with me. We’ve been very excited about this for months, ever since we began our planning last summer.
And speaking of summer, yes, it hit us when we exited the airport. Santiago was by no means as suppressive as it could have been given the haze that was obscuring the sun that day, so our winter-acclimated systems didn’t go into complete shock. Nonetheless, I felt a little silly to be carrying a coat, which was a necessary layer when I left New York. We made our way from the airport to the district of Santiago known as Ñuñoa, where I will be living these next three months. I am very thankful to my good friend Denise and her mom Betty for helping me secure housing. I think my living situation will work out well.
I am living with a woman named Lony Springjmüller, who is of German decent like many of the people of the Lake District, where she spent the majority of her life before moving to Santiago 20 years ago. Lony is 71 years old and has two daughters and three grandchildren, all of whom live in Santiago. She has a three bedroom apartment to herself, except that she chooses to rent out the spare two bedrooms to university students, which is the category that I fit into. The other student will arrive at the beginning of March when classes at the university resume. My room is small, smaller than my room in the residence hall in fact, but I also have use of the other rooms in the apartment, including a large patio with a swing.
During the first couple of days after arrival, Sarah and I spent the time getting to know Lony – who is a sweet woman and patient with my developing Spanish skills – and the neighborhood. I am a little intimidated about living in a city as large as Santiago, but things seem relatively comfortable thus far, so I am maintaining a sense of optimism.
And speaking of summer, yes, it hit us when we exited the airport. Santiago was by no means as suppressive as it could have been given the haze that was obscuring the sun that day, so our winter-acclimated systems didn’t go into complete shock. Nonetheless, I felt a little silly to be carrying a coat, which was a necessary layer when I left New York. We made our way from the airport to the district of Santiago known as Ñuñoa, where I will be living these next three months. I am very thankful to my good friend Denise and her mom Betty for helping me secure housing. I think my living situation will work out well.
I am living with a woman named Lony Springjmüller, who is of German decent like many of the people of the Lake District, where she spent the majority of her life before moving to Santiago 20 years ago. Lony is 71 years old and has two daughters and three grandchildren, all of whom live in Santiago. She has a three bedroom apartment to herself, except that she chooses to rent out the spare two bedrooms to university students, which is the category that I fit into. The other student will arrive at the beginning of March when classes at the university resume. My room is small, smaller than my room in the residence hall in fact, but I also have use of the other rooms in the apartment, including a large patio with a swing.
During the first couple of days after arrival, Sarah and I spent the time getting to know Lony – who is a sweet woman and patient with my developing Spanish skills – and the neighborhood. I am a little intimidated about living in a city as large as Santiago, but things seem relatively comfortable thus far, so I am maintaining a sense of optimism.
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