After the desert bumpage we rested for a day in Uyuni and then headed to Potosi to see, what was once, the richest town in the world. The fortune was made by mining silver, a process that still continues today. You can hire a guide to take you down the mines and see what goes on. So that´s what we did.
There was a warning on the tour agencies sign: ´NOT FOR WIMPS OR WOOSIES´(and yes that´s how it was spelled!).
They were certainly right. First, we pick up our equipment. Wellingtons, waterproof jacket and trousers, stylish helmet and headlamp. Verrrry niiiiice. Already I am roasting under this equipment alongside my own clothes, but there you go. Then we go to a miners market (in our ´I´m a gullible tourist, exploit me´outfits) to buy some gifts for the workers and ourselves: water, soft drinks, coca leaves, cigarettes and dynamite. Yes, you can buy dynamite, off the street. For about a quid. What a bargain! We buy some for the miners and some for ourselves. I´m chewing away at the coca leaves (same stuff that cocaine is made from, but nowhere near as concentrated) but it feels like chewing on a green tea teabag and it´s pretty gross. My cheek goes a bit numb and my tongue is all tingly but that´s it. After about 45 minutes of dribbling green goo on myself I give up and spit it all out. My teeth have gone greenish yellowy grey. Niiiiiiiice.
We see the refinery and get some silver paste on our cheeks. Then we go to the mine itself. There are miners outside, drunk and smoking, coughing and spitting, laughing and talking. Some of them seriously look like they haven´t got long to live; the average lifespan of a miner is 45 years. Many of them die, starved of breath, coughing up blood, the black lung; incurable silicosis they pick up from inhaling the dust from the mine. Some workers start in the mines at as young as 12 years old. Male workers only; women bring bad luck.
The entrance tunnel is black with sticky dried llama blood, a sacrifice to Tio, the God of the Mine (otherwise known as Satan). It´s very cold and dark in the entrance, and incredibly dusty. It smells quite weird and I´m concerned about the high pressure air pipes hissing about my ears, like they might explode at any moment. We trudge along the muddy floor, slipping every so often, until every last photon of light has lost the will to go on and we´re left with the dull glow of headlamps in the dusty mire. The heat starts to build up once the wind from outside can´t reach us. Everything is muffled and quiet; it´s not unlike a warm tomb. We come across a statue of Tio, complete with offerings from the miners: cigarettes, 96% pure alcohol (which burns the throat like acid I can tell you now), pictures of naked women...everybody is finding it hard to breathe and our eyes are burning. We descend to the second level, 20 metres below the first. It´s dusty and slippery and my glasses are coated with dust. I can´t see a thing so they have to be put in a bag, without their case unfortunately (I have the dusty scratches to prove it). At least I can see now, so long as I blink every 2 seconds. We are crawling on our hands and knees through the dust; the stench thickens. The rocks are coated with yellow and green, stalactites drip gooey fluid onto my hands and head. ´Oh, don´t put your hands on the white powder on the walls please, it´s arsenic´, our guide kindly informs us, after I´ve been practically bathing in the stuff. We continue down this narrow shute , down, down, down...I know it´s only technically 20 metres but it´s winding and steep and it feels like a lot more. There are narrow paths where there´s nothing but a log wedged in the rocks between you and a 60 metre fall. The wellingtons have no grip whatsoever and for one scary moment I´m slipping down the shute, unable to catch a foot-hold or grab anything with my hands. The path levels out and I gain my balance again, checking that my hands aren´t bleeding, hoping that the guide was joking about the arsenic.
On the second level we see the miners working, carry rock, digging, loading, winching, pushing 2 tonne carriages full of minerals to other parts of the mine. It´s backbreaking work. They all seem very grateful for the gifts and desperate to ask the guide the time, to get some sense of where they are in the day and how long they have to spend down in this hell. Nobody eats in the mine, they only drink and chew coca leaves, sometimes working for 12 hours straight without a break at the surface.
Down we go, once again. If the dust and smell were bad before, they exponentially increase as you descend. We go to the lowest level of the mine, the fourth, 80 meters below the surface. Most of this descent is on ladders (some with very wobbly rungs) but it´s a little easier, less claustrophobic, and there´s something comforting about the repetitive action of that foot down, this foot down.
You cannot stand anywhere on the fourth level except whilst climbing off the ladder. We creep, crawl, slide, wriggle our way through the tunnels, desperately fighting for breath. Here we find Martine, a 38 year old miner who´s been working here all his life. Hunched up against the rock, he´s chipping out a path of dynamite holes to release the mineral vein he´s found. Every so often he chips a little of the mineral vein off by mistake, picks it up, examines it, breaks it with his hammer to examine the contents. There´s something very apelike about the hunched stance and the intuitive ease with which he handles these rocks and tools. He´s been doing this for 9 hours by the time we see him, intends to continue for another 3, when he´ll blow the hole and come collect his prize in the morning (as the dust has to clear overnight). ´Do you like your job? ´ John asks. ´I like it because I have no choice ´is his reply. The longer we sit with him, the more comfortable I feel. You could almost call it cozy. We leave him with a generous bag of coca leaves, cigarettes and soft drinks. Pretty lonely this far down the mine.
Our ascent is almost as difficult as the descent, as we´re exhausted from the scrambling and inability to breathe. However, I feel much safer going up towards the surface than I did going down; it doesn´t seem as steep and I know that the reward at the end will be cooler temperatures and increased oxygen. The foot-holds and hand-holds are easier to see as well. Once back at the surface I gulp in the fresh air and relish the feel of the wind on my face. The sunlight is still strong despite it being evening now. Invigorated, we finish our trip with a couple of sticks of dynamite. Bolivian dynamite is green and soft, and I roll it into a ball like dry play-doh. There are little bits of polystyrene in it, but I don´t know why. To give the dynamite some extra whoomph, we add a bag of ammonium nitrate for good measure. We stick the fuses in, get quick photos with us all holding lit dynamite, then the tour guide sprints about 40 metres away, half buries the dynamite in the ground, then sprints back. We wait. The tour guides shout to warn the miners. Then silence, apart from the hissing of the fuse. John shouts 3, 2, 1...and miraculously he´s timed it perfectly. A massive BOOM resounds around the valley, all we can see is a big cloud of dust. We see the hole our dynamite has made; it´s deep enough for me to crouch in twice over.
BOOM!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Atacama Desert and Salar de Uyuni
We decided to take a tour to get into Bolivia (way more interesting than just taking the bus, right?). So, we made our way to San Pedro de Atacama, to take a 3 day drive across the desert and salt flats to make our introduction to Bolivia something truly special.
As soon as we entered the tour bus, a split became apparent...the Spanish speakers and the English speakers. Luckily, this worked out quite nicely into one group of 5 and one group of 6 (as a maximum of 6 people could fit into one landrover). So, Joe, Megan, Deirdre, John and I took the bus to the desert border crossing into Bolivia where we had breakfast and moved into the 4WDs. The border control was hilarious - literally just a shack in the middle of the desert. The Bolivian flag was half missing, worn ragged by the desert winds. That said, it was also one of the most painless and speedy borders I have ever done. During our breakfast (think white bread and sugar, sugar, and more sugar, and you´re about right) we spotted some seagulls. We wondered if they were a bit lost. Also, we saw a fox, prowling around for scraps and, possibly, seagulls.
Jumping into our landrover (once called a Toyota, now an oyot) we bumped our way across the sands. And, man, do I mean bumped (I still have bruises on the outside and probably also on the inside). Our guide/driver spoke no English and we spoke little Spanish which made for some interesting miming. Drove past some pretty lagoons and flamingoes, resting at some hot springs. Luckily for us the car decided to conk out at this point so we got an extra long bathing session in the spring. It was all going, oh, I don´t know, one could say, swimmingly - until the wind blew my towel into the spa. Doh! The sun and the strong wind speeded up the drying process.
I haven´t mentioned how cold it is in the desert! The wind was ferocious, ripping through layers of clothing like they just weren´t there. I truly wished I was wearing 3 layers of trousers. But as it was, I had only one pair on and we had to make do. Our next stop was some stinky sulphurous geysers - no safety barriers this time! Ha, take that, New Zealand! We wandered around for a bit, watching the bubbling mud and steam. I briefly considered making myself another impromptu mud facepack, but there wasn´t anywhere safe to scoop. Plus I remembered the trouble I had washing it all off last time.
The higher we got, the worse the headaches got. I was extremely tired as well so unfortunately I missed some of the scenery by nodding off. I was grateful to arrive at the hostel for lunch and some recuperation. Slept for an hour or two, woke up with the thumping headache still knocking around on the inside of my skull. A combination of aspirin, neck massage and cinnamon tea did wonders (apparently aspirin is the best for high altitude, because it thins the blood and all). The English speakers went out to climb a hill to watch the sunset - true to form, with beers. The beer was extra fizzy owing to the high altitude which made for a novel experience (personally I preferred it this way). Slightly drunk and high on aspirins, tea, altitude, oxygen deprivation, I giggled my way down the hill and decided to hang out with some llamas. They made the most wonderful cooing noise, very cute. Didn´t seem to afraid of me so I crouched my way closer. Tried to get some good pictures but unfortunately it was too dark. Went back inside to read and eat dinner, did a quick 10 minutes of stargazing (no light pollution, gorgeous) and was in bed by 9pm!!
I had the responsibility of setting the alarm for the following morning. This I did, most dutifully. However, I had forgotten one tiny detail. In crossing the Bolivian border we had moved forward in time by one hour. Whoops. So, everybody was up an hour early, which I thought was a most excellent excuse for a brisk stroll to watch the sunrise. The others didn´t seem to agree.
Spurned by my group, I set out alone, the intrepid llama hunter in a desert wilderness. As it was, I didn´t really get very far, as sunrise came pretty fast, and I was very achy and out of breath. I did get some cool pictures though. The whole area is so beautiful and alien, it was very hard to not waste my camera battery and memory every 2 seconds (no electricity or internet in the hostels, surprisingly enough). Once again, a sugar overload left me jittery and didn´t really help the headache. Felt quite sick. Vowed never to eat caramel for breakfast again.
Jumped into oyot at 7am to jostle our way to the Red Lagoon. Red water, blue sky, hundreds of flamingoes! There were 3 different species, apparently, not that I could tell the difference. Poor oyot kept breaking down and overheating, but our trusty driver Ishad kept hopping out and fixing her up. We probably had 8 break downs over 3 days, but luckily none of them required more than 15 minutes of maintainence. I´m not suprised that we had breakdowns; massive dust storms, gusts of wind (even small tornadoes), sand and incredibly bumpy terrain do not a happy car make. The tornadoes were a little disconcerting - you´d hear this whirring noise and then you´d see this small but still very powerful looking tornado dancing about in front of the car. ´Er, is that okay?´ I ask Ishad. He nods and looks pretty relaxed so I try to follow suit. It´s the whirring noise that kept getting to me. That and the unpredictable weaving around that the tornadoes seemed to like.
We continued, bombing across the gravelly desert, Ishads favourite Bolivian tunes blarring in the background (I believe we only had one CD for the entire trip). We stopped to climb some cool rock formations, very Dali-esque, but I was feeling quite headachy once again so didn´t climb as high as I would have liked. For lunch, we stopped at another lagoon full of flamingoes. These ones were really close and not at all bothered by the strange pink monkeys on the beach so we sat peacefully in the reeds watching them feed. It was quite sheltered and sunny so I even managed to feel warm for a few minutes before heading once again into the icy blasts of dustwind. The rest of the day was spent zooming across the desert and being bounced around like a bean in a beanbag, although we did stop to take pictures of a smoking volcano and to fix the car a couple of times.
Gradually, the landscape changed, became softer, and the mountains gained multicoloured stripes, reds, oranges, greens. We were heading towards the salt plains. Eventually we neared a village. We could see our hostel, its salt bricks glinting tantalisingly in the distance.
Louise: ´Why have we stopped?´
Ishad: (pointing) ´Urgle lurgle murgle flurgle Baños murgle lurgle´
Louise: ´Toilets? But there are toilets at the hostel and we can see it! Why would we pay to use toilets when we have free ones 5 minutes away?´
-confusion ensues in two languages-
Ishad: (laughing) ´Baños y museo!! Museo!!´
Louise: ´Museum??´
It didn´t look like a museum...there was a stone wall and some kind of garden with a few piles of rocks in it. And toilets of course. But, as it was only 5 Bolivianos, we thought we´d take a look. I seriously thought we´d been scammed into paying to see a rock garden until Joe shouted ´Hey guys, look at this!!´. You could tell it was something really interesting so we hurried over, wrapped up against the wind.
Joe: ´Look in there!´
Louise: (looks in hole) ´Aurrgheeeeee!!´
It was a human skeleton, hunched up and moodily eyeing us up with it´s sockety sockets. He didn´t look too impressed by this white chick squealing at him in a most undignified fashion. We looked for more holes; found more skeletons. One still had hair. Another still had an ear and most of it´s skin. Another one had been a bit unfortunate and his head had fallen off, leaving the pelvis and spine sitting in the original pose. We found rope, pots, hats and child skulls. Hadn´t the foggiest what this was all meant to mean, as the English boards weren´t very informative, but we managed to deduce that this was an ancient graveyard for desert kings, or something. Either way, gross and unexpected but also very cool.
We made our way to the salt hotel (which, perhaps unsurprisingly, was made of salt). I´d been imagining some tiny ice palace like the one in Narnia (but, you know, smaller), but it looked pretty much like a normal building, except salty (mmm). It was surprisingly cosy, with rug hangings on the walls and a free bottle of wine to keep us warm. Hot showers were available but my headache kicked in once again so unfortunately had to depart to bed. Wouldn´t have been much point in a shower anyway - as soon as you stepped outside you were dusty up to the eyelids. The 4am start the next day was another factor convincing me that early bed was a good idea.
So, off we went, still dark, very cold, twilight stars. Sunrise on the salt flats. Ishad was driving incredibly quickly, but professionally - it felt safe. After about an hour and a half of bumpy punishment we got to the plains - a vast, flat, white crystalline mass. The salt had formed hexagonal shaped slabs and you could see where the landrovers had been driving across, flattening the pattern. The sunrise was euphoric. Pink Floyd would have approved. We continued over the salty desert, stopping to take weird perspective pictures in the crazy landscape. We stopped for breakfast at Isla de Pescado (which, I believe, means Fish Island - odd because there are no fish and it´s covered in cactuses). The locals keep a rhea as a pet. The cactuses were huge - it takes 100 years for this species to grow 1 metre so you can imagine some of them, 12 metres plus, were pretty old. As we reached the edge of the desert we saw a salt processing factory and a small village where we could buy some cheap souvenirs. Our final stop was at a ´train graveyard´, where lots of old trains had been discarded and left to rot. We climbed on a few of them to take pictures and graffiti our mark. Someone else had decided to leave their mark by doing a crap in one of the engines!!
I could hear that now familiar whirring sound, and sure enough, there were a couple of baby tornadoes lurking about in the distance. I was glad to get back to the hostel; the town felt safer somehow!
As soon as we entered the tour bus, a split became apparent...the Spanish speakers and the English speakers. Luckily, this worked out quite nicely into one group of 5 and one group of 6 (as a maximum of 6 people could fit into one landrover). So, Joe, Megan, Deirdre, John and I took the bus to the desert border crossing into Bolivia where we had breakfast and moved into the 4WDs. The border control was hilarious - literally just a shack in the middle of the desert. The Bolivian flag was half missing, worn ragged by the desert winds. That said, it was also one of the most painless and speedy borders I have ever done. During our breakfast (think white bread and sugar, sugar, and more sugar, and you´re about right) we spotted some seagulls. We wondered if they were a bit lost. Also, we saw a fox, prowling around for scraps and, possibly, seagulls.
Jumping into our landrover (once called a Toyota, now an oyot) we bumped our way across the sands. And, man, do I mean bumped (I still have bruises on the outside and probably also on the inside). Our guide/driver spoke no English and we spoke little Spanish which made for some interesting miming. Drove past some pretty lagoons and flamingoes, resting at some hot springs. Luckily for us the car decided to conk out at this point so we got an extra long bathing session in the spring. It was all going, oh, I don´t know, one could say, swimmingly - until the wind blew my towel into the spa. Doh! The sun and the strong wind speeded up the drying process.
I haven´t mentioned how cold it is in the desert! The wind was ferocious, ripping through layers of clothing like they just weren´t there. I truly wished I was wearing 3 layers of trousers. But as it was, I had only one pair on and we had to make do. Our next stop was some stinky sulphurous geysers - no safety barriers this time! Ha, take that, New Zealand! We wandered around for a bit, watching the bubbling mud and steam. I briefly considered making myself another impromptu mud facepack, but there wasn´t anywhere safe to scoop. Plus I remembered the trouble I had washing it all off last time.
The higher we got, the worse the headaches got. I was extremely tired as well so unfortunately I missed some of the scenery by nodding off. I was grateful to arrive at the hostel for lunch and some recuperation. Slept for an hour or two, woke up with the thumping headache still knocking around on the inside of my skull. A combination of aspirin, neck massage and cinnamon tea did wonders (apparently aspirin is the best for high altitude, because it thins the blood and all). The English speakers went out to climb a hill to watch the sunset - true to form, with beers. The beer was extra fizzy owing to the high altitude which made for a novel experience (personally I preferred it this way). Slightly drunk and high on aspirins, tea, altitude, oxygen deprivation, I giggled my way down the hill and decided to hang out with some llamas. They made the most wonderful cooing noise, very cute. Didn´t seem to afraid of me so I crouched my way closer. Tried to get some good pictures but unfortunately it was too dark. Went back inside to read and eat dinner, did a quick 10 minutes of stargazing (no light pollution, gorgeous) and was in bed by 9pm!!
I had the responsibility of setting the alarm for the following morning. This I did, most dutifully. However, I had forgotten one tiny detail. In crossing the Bolivian border we had moved forward in time by one hour. Whoops. So, everybody was up an hour early, which I thought was a most excellent excuse for a brisk stroll to watch the sunrise. The others didn´t seem to agree.
Spurned by my group, I set out alone, the intrepid llama hunter in a desert wilderness. As it was, I didn´t really get very far, as sunrise came pretty fast, and I was very achy and out of breath. I did get some cool pictures though. The whole area is so beautiful and alien, it was very hard to not waste my camera battery and memory every 2 seconds (no electricity or internet in the hostels, surprisingly enough). Once again, a sugar overload left me jittery and didn´t really help the headache. Felt quite sick. Vowed never to eat caramel for breakfast again.
Jumped into oyot at 7am to jostle our way to the Red Lagoon. Red water, blue sky, hundreds of flamingoes! There were 3 different species, apparently, not that I could tell the difference. Poor oyot kept breaking down and overheating, but our trusty driver Ishad kept hopping out and fixing her up. We probably had 8 break downs over 3 days, but luckily none of them required more than 15 minutes of maintainence. I´m not suprised that we had breakdowns; massive dust storms, gusts of wind (even small tornadoes), sand and incredibly bumpy terrain do not a happy car make. The tornadoes were a little disconcerting - you´d hear this whirring noise and then you´d see this small but still very powerful looking tornado dancing about in front of the car. ´Er, is that okay?´ I ask Ishad. He nods and looks pretty relaxed so I try to follow suit. It´s the whirring noise that kept getting to me. That and the unpredictable weaving around that the tornadoes seemed to like.
We continued, bombing across the gravelly desert, Ishads favourite Bolivian tunes blarring in the background (I believe we only had one CD for the entire trip). We stopped to climb some cool rock formations, very Dali-esque, but I was feeling quite headachy once again so didn´t climb as high as I would have liked. For lunch, we stopped at another lagoon full of flamingoes. These ones were really close and not at all bothered by the strange pink monkeys on the beach so we sat peacefully in the reeds watching them feed. It was quite sheltered and sunny so I even managed to feel warm for a few minutes before heading once again into the icy blasts of dustwind. The rest of the day was spent zooming across the desert and being bounced around like a bean in a beanbag, although we did stop to take pictures of a smoking volcano and to fix the car a couple of times.
Gradually, the landscape changed, became softer, and the mountains gained multicoloured stripes, reds, oranges, greens. We were heading towards the salt plains. Eventually we neared a village. We could see our hostel, its salt bricks glinting tantalisingly in the distance.
Louise: ´Why have we stopped?´
Ishad: (pointing) ´Urgle lurgle murgle flurgle Baños murgle lurgle´
Louise: ´Toilets? But there are toilets at the hostel and we can see it! Why would we pay to use toilets when we have free ones 5 minutes away?´
-confusion ensues in two languages-
Ishad: (laughing) ´Baños y museo!! Museo!!´
Louise: ´Museum??´
It didn´t look like a museum...there was a stone wall and some kind of garden with a few piles of rocks in it. And toilets of course. But, as it was only 5 Bolivianos, we thought we´d take a look. I seriously thought we´d been scammed into paying to see a rock garden until Joe shouted ´Hey guys, look at this!!´. You could tell it was something really interesting so we hurried over, wrapped up against the wind.
Joe: ´Look in there!´
Louise: (looks in hole) ´Aurrgheeeeee!!´
It was a human skeleton, hunched up and moodily eyeing us up with it´s sockety sockets. He didn´t look too impressed by this white chick squealing at him in a most undignified fashion. We looked for more holes; found more skeletons. One still had hair. Another still had an ear and most of it´s skin. Another one had been a bit unfortunate and his head had fallen off, leaving the pelvis and spine sitting in the original pose. We found rope, pots, hats and child skulls. Hadn´t the foggiest what this was all meant to mean, as the English boards weren´t very informative, but we managed to deduce that this was an ancient graveyard for desert kings, or something. Either way, gross and unexpected but also very cool.
We made our way to the salt hotel (which, perhaps unsurprisingly, was made of salt). I´d been imagining some tiny ice palace like the one in Narnia (but, you know, smaller), but it looked pretty much like a normal building, except salty (mmm). It was surprisingly cosy, with rug hangings on the walls and a free bottle of wine to keep us warm. Hot showers were available but my headache kicked in once again so unfortunately had to depart to bed. Wouldn´t have been much point in a shower anyway - as soon as you stepped outside you were dusty up to the eyelids. The 4am start the next day was another factor convincing me that early bed was a good idea.
So, off we went, still dark, very cold, twilight stars. Sunrise on the salt flats. Ishad was driving incredibly quickly, but professionally - it felt safe. After about an hour and a half of bumpy punishment we got to the plains - a vast, flat, white crystalline mass. The salt had formed hexagonal shaped slabs and you could see where the landrovers had been driving across, flattening the pattern. The sunrise was euphoric. Pink Floyd would have approved. We continued over the salty desert, stopping to take weird perspective pictures in the crazy landscape. We stopped for breakfast at Isla de Pescado (which, I believe, means Fish Island - odd because there are no fish and it´s covered in cactuses). The locals keep a rhea as a pet. The cactuses were huge - it takes 100 years for this species to grow 1 metre so you can imagine some of them, 12 metres plus, were pretty old. As we reached the edge of the desert we saw a salt processing factory and a small village where we could buy some cheap souvenirs. Our final stop was at a ´train graveyard´, where lots of old trains had been discarded and left to rot. We climbed on a few of them to take pictures and graffiti our mark. Someone else had decided to leave their mark by doing a crap in one of the engines!!
I could hear that now familiar whirring sound, and sure enough, there were a couple of baby tornadoes lurking about in the distance. I was glad to get back to the hostel; the town felt safer somehow!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Navimag boat!
I´m so sorry guys, I´ve been really lax on the blog front. We´ve had a mad few days. I´ll try and fill you in.
So. We´d been hanging about in a little town called Pucon, trying to climb an active volcano, but the weather was too bad. So, we were sat inside, cursing the rain, and wondering what to do next on our journey.
Then we hear the word ´Navimag´. It´s a ferry apparently, and it takes cargo (and a few tourists) up and down the coast of Chile. Ooo, a boat. Haven´t done that before. My spider senses are tingling.
Off we pop to the Navimag shop, grab a page full of information, and promise to let her know what we want to book. The boats only go once a week (one northbound, one southbound). We don´t have time to catch the southbound one, as it leaves the next day. However, the northbound one leaves at the end of the week. But we´d have to get to the south to do it.
For me, this was like some kind of omen. I´d really wanted to see the Perito Moreno glacier...but we´d decided it was too far south to get to in our timeframe. But, if we had to go south anyway...it was just next door. Kind of. Close enough to get a bus to anyway.
But how to get south? We scan the internet for bus timetables. And then flights. Turns out there´s a flight leaving for the town next to the glaciers in two days time , and it´s only 130 quid. Not bad. But....but....I´m desperately torn between the budget and the value for money. The costs are piling up...but it´s the cheapest we´d ever be able to do it, and we´d get to see some absolutely amazing things along the way. And the fact that I don´t want to sit on my ass in the rain.
Argh!!
Louise: "Oh, fuck it. Let´s do it."
John: "Really?"
Louise: "...Yeah."
We grab some money and run to the Navimag shop. Run! RUN!!
Louise: (slows down) "...Wait, are we actually doing this?"
John: "...er...Yeah?"
Louise: "...Yeah....Yeah!"
It felt right.
So, the mad rush to book the boat, the buses, the flight, and the accommodation ensues. Eeep! Everything is going swimmingly. Booked, booked, booked. Tick, tick, tick.
That very day we head to Barriloche to have a look round and catch our flight on the day after tomorrow. We get there and check our emails. Crap. ´Problem with the flight booking´is never a good start to an email...apparently they need a scan of the debit card and a passport....er...no! No scanners, and no sending your private details out to random people in Barcelona. So, we spend several hours begging for translators to help us sort the problem out, and running between internet cafes, phones and airline offices. Thankfully, everything seems to be fine, although edreams (who we booked the flight with) were very unhelpful and did not clarify the problem or explain why they needed random information over the internet or what the problem was or ANYTHING. So they´re officially on my black list. But, anyway, for whatever reason, the flight was booked and sorted and everything was fine and off we flew. Whee!!
Louise: "..:The Alps are amazing aren´t they John?"
John: "Andes, Louise, Andes."
Louise: (not missing a beat) "So, the Andes are amazing aren´t they John?"
And amazing they were. We saw the sun set over the Andes, and it wasn´t even a specialist tour flight. The lakes and snow were glowing gold.
We landed in El Calafate and booked our tour to the glacier for the following day. We grabbed food and fell into bed.
The Perito Moreno glacier is AMAZING. Gorgeous. Stunning. Vast. Chilly.
We got on a boat and got up close and intimate with Mr Glacier. It´s very easy to lose persepctive on the scale in the photos. It´s as high as a fifteen story building (60 metres). There were people hiking on the glacier in a couple of the pictures, but you can hardly see them. They looked like ants.
Every so often you would hear a massive roar. It was huges chunks of ice sharding off, randomly, periodically, plunging into the water, sending huges waves flowing under the ice. Unfortunately the roar came after the fall so you wouldn´t see much if you just looked for the sound. But keeping your eyes peeled meant you were pretty likely to see a few ´calvings´ of the ice. Impressive.
Right, off we run to the overnight bus. Off to the boat!!
Owing to confusion about time zone changes and general bus inflexibility we then spent most of the next day sitting around. On the bus we travelled for miles along a dirt track across large estancias (farm ranches), laughing at the rheas. They were terrified of the bus and when it got close, they ran away, looking like prudish Victorians lifting up their petticoats to flee from this terrifying monster.
There wasn´t much to do at the dock (we checked in at about 3pm and boarded at 9pm) so we spent most of our time wandering about and climbing on statues. John was reluctant to have his picture taken with a big metal bear thing. We saw black headed swans though. By about 8pm the check in lounge was filling up - and everybody was doing that thing where they discreetly assess their fellow cabin mates for sanity and annoyingness level . John and I were testing each other on world geography so we probably came across as pretty weird. Unfortunately, on the first night, no dinner was provided, so we imaginatively improvised with jam and bread (these being the only two edible options available in the supermarket). Our tour guide for the journey was immediately nicknamed Borat, owing to his accent and very stylish moustache.
We were woken at 5.30am by the engine starting (for 5 minutes I thought it was John shivering on the bottom bunk), so we went to the deck to see the sunrise. It was absolutely freezing and very pretty. The rest of the day was spent getting to know a few of our cabin mates: Richard and Eliza, Sydney lawyers turned travellers, Thomas, a stylish, down to earth Belgian fellow, and Joe, a spacey, hippiesque philosopher with a very colourful coat. (Why, why, I did not start calling him Joseph with the technicolor dreamcoat I do not know. Next time). We visited the bridge and played with the machines, played lots of cards, and ate LOTS of food. It was great to just sit around and laugh, sleep and rest, read and play guitar.
The next day I spent mostly in bed trying to keep my breakfast down (which I failed to do. Miserably. 5 times). The bathroom was decidedly fragrant. This probably didn´t help Eliza when she ran up to the bathroom as a safety precaution, only to see and smell my redecoration efforts. Needless to say she decided to contribute to the artwork. The staff were very helpful and not at all squeamish, which made me feel slightly less awful about the whole affair. But yeah, not fun. Never been seasick before. Well, I´ve felt sick, but never actually been sick. Whoo. There´s another experience to tick off the list. On top of that, Borat comes over the tannoy "On zee right side of zee bot, peeple, yuu can see whales!!". So, not only was I throwing up, I missed the whale sighting . Still, it was probably the most fun I´ve had whilst feeling ill though...just sat on the bunk sharing stories with Eliza.
John didn´t feel too bad and even ate lunch (which only 3 people managed to do apparently). By the evening everyone was feeling much better. And hungry. We ate and drank the night away, then got the guitar out and sang into the early hours.
On the final day I tried to lie in, but in the end got up for breakfast (mmm tasty nom nom nom). More card games, reading and guitar ensued. In the evening, we found out that a horse a had given birth on the boat!! We christened the foal Eden (after the boat name), got mildly drunk, played hide and seek, and crashed the DJ booth to play tunes in celebration.
The staff came down and switched off the music. Boo!! Then they opened the bar for 5 minutes. Hurrah!! We stocked up for a crazy night of Borat jokes, improvisation, bread sculptures, and science experiments about attempting to slip on banana skins. Not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know.
Mmm, bread sculptures. Nom nom nom.
So. We´d been hanging about in a little town called Pucon, trying to climb an active volcano, but the weather was too bad. So, we were sat inside, cursing the rain, and wondering what to do next on our journey.
Then we hear the word ´Navimag´. It´s a ferry apparently, and it takes cargo (and a few tourists) up and down the coast of Chile. Ooo, a boat. Haven´t done that before. My spider senses are tingling.
Off we pop to the Navimag shop, grab a page full of information, and promise to let her know what we want to book. The boats only go once a week (one northbound, one southbound). We don´t have time to catch the southbound one, as it leaves the next day. However, the northbound one leaves at the end of the week. But we´d have to get to the south to do it.
For me, this was like some kind of omen. I´d really wanted to see the Perito Moreno glacier...but we´d decided it was too far south to get to in our timeframe. But, if we had to go south anyway...it was just next door. Kind of. Close enough to get a bus to anyway.
But how to get south? We scan the internet for bus timetables. And then flights. Turns out there´s a flight leaving for the town next to the glaciers in two days time , and it´s only 130 quid. Not bad. But....but....I´m desperately torn between the budget and the value for money. The costs are piling up...but it´s the cheapest we´d ever be able to do it, and we´d get to see some absolutely amazing things along the way. And the fact that I don´t want to sit on my ass in the rain.
Argh!!
Louise: "Oh, fuck it. Let´s do it."
John: "Really?"
Louise: "...Yeah."
We grab some money and run to the Navimag shop. Run! RUN!!
Louise: (slows down) "...Wait, are we actually doing this?"
John: "...er...Yeah?"
Louise: "...Yeah....Yeah!"
It felt right.
So, the mad rush to book the boat, the buses, the flight, and the accommodation ensues. Eeep! Everything is going swimmingly. Booked, booked, booked. Tick, tick, tick.
That very day we head to Barriloche to have a look round and catch our flight on the day after tomorrow. We get there and check our emails. Crap. ´Problem with the flight booking´is never a good start to an email...apparently they need a scan of the debit card and a passport....er...no! No scanners, and no sending your private details out to random people in Barcelona. So, we spend several hours begging for translators to help us sort the problem out, and running between internet cafes, phones and airline offices. Thankfully, everything seems to be fine, although edreams (who we booked the flight with) were very unhelpful and did not clarify the problem or explain why they needed random information over the internet or what the problem was or ANYTHING. So they´re officially on my black list. But, anyway, for whatever reason, the flight was booked and sorted and everything was fine and off we flew. Whee!!
Louise: "..:The Alps are amazing aren´t they John?"
John: "Andes, Louise, Andes."
Louise: (not missing a beat) "So, the Andes are amazing aren´t they John?"
And amazing they were. We saw the sun set over the Andes, and it wasn´t even a specialist tour flight. The lakes and snow were glowing gold.
We landed in El Calafate and booked our tour to the glacier for the following day. We grabbed food and fell into bed.
The Perito Moreno glacier is AMAZING. Gorgeous. Stunning. Vast. Chilly.
We got on a boat and got up close and intimate with Mr Glacier. It´s very easy to lose persepctive on the scale in the photos. It´s as high as a fifteen story building (60 metres). There were people hiking on the glacier in a couple of the pictures, but you can hardly see them. They looked like ants.
Every so often you would hear a massive roar. It was huges chunks of ice sharding off, randomly, periodically, plunging into the water, sending huges waves flowing under the ice. Unfortunately the roar came after the fall so you wouldn´t see much if you just looked for the sound. But keeping your eyes peeled meant you were pretty likely to see a few ´calvings´ of the ice. Impressive.
Right, off we run to the overnight bus. Off to the boat!!
Owing to confusion about time zone changes and general bus inflexibility we then spent most of the next day sitting around. On the bus we travelled for miles along a dirt track across large estancias (farm ranches), laughing at the rheas. They were terrified of the bus and when it got close, they ran away, looking like prudish Victorians lifting up their petticoats to flee from this terrifying monster.
There wasn´t much to do at the dock (we checked in at about 3pm and boarded at 9pm) so we spent most of our time wandering about and climbing on statues. John was reluctant to have his picture taken with a big metal bear thing. We saw black headed swans though. By about 8pm the check in lounge was filling up - and everybody was doing that thing where they discreetly assess their fellow cabin mates for sanity and annoyingness level . John and I were testing each other on world geography so we probably came across as pretty weird. Unfortunately, on the first night, no dinner was provided, so we imaginatively improvised with jam and bread (these being the only two edible options available in the supermarket). Our tour guide for the journey was immediately nicknamed Borat, owing to his accent and very stylish moustache.
We were woken at 5.30am by the engine starting (for 5 minutes I thought it was John shivering on the bottom bunk), so we went to the deck to see the sunrise. It was absolutely freezing and very pretty. The rest of the day was spent getting to know a few of our cabin mates: Richard and Eliza, Sydney lawyers turned travellers, Thomas, a stylish, down to earth Belgian fellow, and Joe, a spacey, hippiesque philosopher with a very colourful coat. (Why, why, I did not start calling him Joseph with the technicolor dreamcoat I do not know. Next time). We visited the bridge and played with the machines, played lots of cards, and ate LOTS of food. It was great to just sit around and laugh, sleep and rest, read and play guitar.
The next day I spent mostly in bed trying to keep my breakfast down (which I failed to do. Miserably. 5 times). The bathroom was decidedly fragrant. This probably didn´t help Eliza when she ran up to the bathroom as a safety precaution, only to see and smell my redecoration efforts. Needless to say she decided to contribute to the artwork. The staff were very helpful and not at all squeamish, which made me feel slightly less awful about the whole affair. But yeah, not fun. Never been seasick before. Well, I´ve felt sick, but never actually been sick. Whoo. There´s another experience to tick off the list. On top of that, Borat comes over the tannoy "On zee right side of zee bot, peeple, yuu can see whales!!". So, not only was I throwing up, I missed the whale sighting . Still, it was probably the most fun I´ve had whilst feeling ill though...just sat on the bunk sharing stories with Eliza.
John didn´t feel too bad and even ate lunch (which only 3 people managed to do apparently). By the evening everyone was feeling much better. And hungry. We ate and drank the night away, then got the guitar out and sang into the early hours.
On the final day I tried to lie in, but in the end got up for breakfast (mmm tasty nom nom nom). More card games, reading and guitar ensued. In the evening, we found out that a horse a had given birth on the boat!! We christened the foal Eden (after the boat name), got mildly drunk, played hide and seek, and crashed the DJ booth to play tunes in celebration.
The staff came down and switched off the music. Boo!! Then they opened the bar for 5 minutes. Hurrah!! We stocked up for a crazy night of Borat jokes, improvisation, bread sculptures, and science experiments about attempting to slip on banana skins. Not as easy as it looks in the movies, you know.
Mmm, bread sculptures. Nom nom nom.
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