I'm sorry, it really doesn't do it justice. It's from the Perito Morena glacier in southern Patagonia, one of the biggest in the world apparently.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
On the Rocks
They stand in ranks of thousands, squeezed tightly together, shifting and groaning in discomfort. There's a crack like a rifle shot, a breathless pause, and a slab crumples, dropping like a hundred ton soldier fainting on parade.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Hill Billy Rambling
I met a man on the hill as we say, a wide-eyed arm-waving man who babbled in bullets of Spanish at me. He spoke no English and it took me a couple of minutes to work out that he had no idea where he was, compounded by the fact that he had taken LSD, lost in mind and body. So when he realised that I was heading home he latched on to me joyously for the 2 hour walk out. He bounded along behind me talking about all sorts of exciting things no doubt, with me nodding and smiling amicably. He was one of those occasional characters you meet who find the lack of any real communication no impediment whatsoever to a happy conversation. On the way I went for a swim in the river, in possibly the most beautiful swimming spot i have ever seen, the water absolutely crystal clear, it was six metres deep and I could see pebbles on the bottom. But it was also the coldest water I have ever been in. And when I emerged spluttering and shaking from the river he seemed not to realise why and leapt in, still in his trousers, only to immediately clamber frantically back out, unable to speak with the cold. He looked at me with a little distrust and I felt like i'd made a puppy lick a lemon. But I shared my lunch with him and he happily resumed his non communication with me.
We met other walkers on the way out who spoke Spanish, they bitched a little about him, said he kept repeating himself and was a genuinely stupid guy. But the walkers were generally dour types, as some tend to be, and he brightened my day, apparently he kept saying I saved his life. In return he tried to set us up on a double date with two girls on the bus back. Me and Dick, he said. I think I was Dick.
Turns out he was training to be a mountain guide.
···
My Spanish is getting better though. I spent over 6 days with a doctor from Buenos Aires who acted as my on trek/in shop/in restaurant language teacher. It was far better than any class ever could have been and free. And it was only during these all day classes that I realised what an easy language English is to learn.
Past: I He She You It They We ran.
Future: I He She You It They We will run.
Easy. Here's me like a fool giving kudos to all those around the world who speak English as a second language. Now I'm in on the joke.
During these classes I also learned the small but important distinction between mi gusto and mi gusta, it gives me pleasure and I pleasure myself.
Waiter: Did you enjoy your meal?
Dick: Yes it was delicious, I pleasure myself.
We met other walkers on the way out who spoke Spanish, they bitched a little about him, said he kept repeating himself and was a genuinely stupid guy. But the walkers were generally dour types, as some tend to be, and he brightened my day, apparently he kept saying I saved his life. In return he tried to set us up on a double date with two girls on the bus back. Me and Dick, he said. I think I was Dick.
Turns out he was training to be a mountain guide.
···
My Spanish is getting better though. I spent over 6 days with a doctor from Buenos Aires who acted as my on trek/in shop/in restaurant language teacher. It was far better than any class ever could have been and free. And it was only during these all day classes that I realised what an easy language English is to learn.
Past: I He She You It They We ran.
Future: I He She You It They We will run.
Easy. Here's me like a fool giving kudos to all those around the world who speak English as a second language. Now I'm in on the joke.
During these classes I also learned the small but important distinction between mi gusto and mi gusta, it gives me pleasure and I pleasure myself.
Waiter: Did you enjoy your meal?
Dick: Yes it was delicious, I pleasure myself.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Mountain Man
I have been chasing volcanoes my entire trip, landing often on the Ring of Fire. In Japan I climbed a small string of them but never saw more than a bucket of steam. And in Indonesia where I was most hopeful, the rainy season ensured that most peaks were inaccessible and often invisible. And so to Chile, sharing the same unstable foundations an ocean away and my last chance at an active volcano. And here the signs were better. The week before I arrived a volcano had erupted 20 kilometres from my intended volcano so I was hopeful that mine might let off a sympathetic belch. Unfortunately to climb this volcano I needed to go as part of the dreaded tour group.
As a rule I do not like tour groups. Firstly, because they cost money. Secondly, because to the guide you are often no more than a bunch of the same but different babbling fools they shepherded up the day before. They make the same tired jokes, and the same tired laughs when we respond with our own not so unique wit. Also travelling alone you feel the strictures of a tour group all the more, the little compromises that weaken me like small cuts. They of course are not all bad. Travelling alone is not about being alone and so sometimes when chance has not provided you with a group of your own you can force circumstance to instead.
We set off up the Vulcan Villarica in a group of ten. Before we had even reached the first designated rest stop our party had to stop for one member to get her breath back. The rest of the group were very nice about it, smiling and joking, ha ha ha. I unfortunately, sensing a busman's holiday of sorts, was unable even to muster a reassuring smile. We were 10 minutes into a climb over mixed terrain of maybe 4 hours.
We continued in this vein all the way up. Our ice axes clinked along through the loose volcanic stones like the bells of lost goats. Watching the trudge of the guides boots, the tiny steps as he inched his way up, was soul destroying. I didn´t think a pace could be too slow to find a rhythm but I now know this to be true. Many of you will be familiar with my occasional wheeze (which many of you have unkindly compared to any number of farmyard animals in the past). This can come on me if I get out of the shower too quickly, and yet here it was absent.
The hordes caught us up on the steepest bit of the climb, a broad chute of ice and loose rock. Cries of "Rocca" rang out every few seconds and we would all look up to see if we could get one right in the face, as rocks sized from golf balls to footballs bounced by. Other parties, impatient with our pace-of-the-slowest, chose this point to overtake us, scrambling past huffily (i could go your pace, its just these girls, don't you see, take me with you).
And so we finally top out, straight into a cloud of sulphur that would down an elephant. It hits the back of your throat like vinegar steam from a bag of chips. When the wind changed we could get right over the yellow and black crust to the edge of the crater but there wasn´t a hint of lava below. Some folks threw rocks in speculatively. I am not sure if this was intended to induce some sort of seismic event in the earth's crust below but I had a go anyway, just in case.
···
I have reached the end of the second day of a three day trek. The climb here was steep, right up over the passes and it was a heads down slog, take refuge in the rhythm. Stubborn patches of snow hid in stubborn patches of shade and beckoned the child in me but these icy streaks promised only snowmen of many corners. Two birds of prey ride ride an updraft beside us, orbiting each other like satellites in a sky that is the uniform blue of a lazy painter.
The others have gone for a stroll to another lake so I am alone. The silence rests on my ears like the sun on my back. The refugio is beside a lake in a bowl of towering jagged edges. High on these edges rock stacks climb up unsteadily from scree slopes, watching warily for the winter ices that have ravaged them. A bird bounces obliquely across the lake like a skimming stone, once, twice, and our painter has put a white tail on him like a jet stream.
At night, come quick, the stars, God has left the lid off.
···
Breathtaking isn´t it?
As a rule I do not like tour groups. Firstly, because they cost money. Secondly, because to the guide you are often no more than a bunch of the same but different babbling fools they shepherded up the day before. They make the same tired jokes, and the same tired laughs when we respond with our own not so unique wit. Also travelling alone you feel the strictures of a tour group all the more, the little compromises that weaken me like small cuts. They of course are not all bad. Travelling alone is not about being alone and so sometimes when chance has not provided you with a group of your own you can force circumstance to instead.
We set off up the Vulcan Villarica in a group of ten. Before we had even reached the first designated rest stop our party had to stop for one member to get her breath back. The rest of the group were very nice about it, smiling and joking, ha ha ha. I unfortunately, sensing a busman's holiday of sorts, was unable even to muster a reassuring smile. We were 10 minutes into a climb over mixed terrain of maybe 4 hours.
We continued in this vein all the way up. Our ice axes clinked along through the loose volcanic stones like the bells of lost goats. Watching the trudge of the guides boots, the tiny steps as he inched his way up, was soul destroying. I didn´t think a pace could be too slow to find a rhythm but I now know this to be true. Many of you will be familiar with my occasional wheeze (which many of you have unkindly compared to any number of farmyard animals in the past). This can come on me if I get out of the shower too quickly, and yet here it was absent.
The hordes caught us up on the steepest bit of the climb, a broad chute of ice and loose rock. Cries of "Rocca" rang out every few seconds and we would all look up to see if we could get one right in the face, as rocks sized from golf balls to footballs bounced by. Other parties, impatient with our pace-of-the-slowest, chose this point to overtake us, scrambling past huffily (i could go your pace, its just these girls, don't you see, take me with you).
And so we finally top out, straight into a cloud of sulphur that would down an elephant. It hits the back of your throat like vinegar steam from a bag of chips. When the wind changed we could get right over the yellow and black crust to the edge of the crater but there wasn´t a hint of lava below. Some folks threw rocks in speculatively. I am not sure if this was intended to induce some sort of seismic event in the earth's crust below but I had a go anyway, just in case.
···
I have reached the end of the second day of a three day trek. The climb here was steep, right up over the passes and it was a heads down slog, take refuge in the rhythm. Stubborn patches of snow hid in stubborn patches of shade and beckoned the child in me but these icy streaks promised only snowmen of many corners. Two birds of prey ride ride an updraft beside us, orbiting each other like satellites in a sky that is the uniform blue of a lazy painter.
The others have gone for a stroll to another lake so I am alone. The silence rests on my ears like the sun on my back. The refugio is beside a lake in a bowl of towering jagged edges. High on these edges rock stacks climb up unsteadily from scree slopes, watching warily for the winter ices that have ravaged them. A bird bounces obliquely across the lake like a skimming stone, once, twice, and our painter has put a white tail on him like a jet stream.
At night, come quick, the stars, God has left the lid off.
···
Breathtaking isn´t it?
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