Mountains and Fjords - The Patagonian Experience

The smell of the port felt very familiar. "I'm back on my turf." I thought, as I climbed the gangway of the ferry that would take us through the fjords of Patagonia. I watched as the last of the trucks rattled onboard and the big stern ramp creaked closed.
Horns blasted and we left the town of Puerto Montt amidst a cloud of noisy seagulls.
A feeling of nostalgia overcame me as I watched the wake carve a familiar foamy trail behind the ship. The land faded further and further into the distance.
I could see the snow capped volcano of Osorno in the afternoon haziness. We had hiked there a few days ago when we were in Puerto Varas. It was a tough hike through mostly lava fields and finally the welcome shade of a coigue forest towards the end. Horseflies the size of small birds constantly buzzed around us and if they managed to land, delivered a nasty bite. The hike lasted about six hours so there were loads of thirsty trekkers when we pulled into a local brewery on our way back to the hotel.
Puerto Varas is a quaint little town heavily influenced by the German settlers. It's guarded by the volcanoes of Osorno and Calbuco and hugs lake llanquihue. The sweet smell of freshly mowed hay on rolling hills, hansel & gretel-style houses, honey-coloured cows and wild meadow flowers made me feel like I was somewhere in Germany. There was even an exact replica of the "Marienkirche". A beautiful church in Wurzburg, Bavaria.
We spent a few days here enjoying the fresh seafood (including a taste of barnacles, which, sorry to say, was not tasty...) fresh squeezed raspberry juice, cherries and lovely baked goodies.

Back on the ferry, I watched the seabirds dip and dive around us, catching the unsuspecting fish disturbed by this rumbling iron mass invading their habitat.
As the evening wore on, the light faded from milky pink to grey and eventually black allowing a spray of glittering stars to appear in the night sky.
After a bit of star gazing we moved inside to listen to a lecture on the fauna of the area and to the strong negative views of the guide on salmon farms. It seemed ironic to have farm raised salmon for dinner.
Later, after a few glasses of Carmenere red, I crawled into the very familiar cocoon of my bunk and let the ocean rock me to sleep.
The following day consisted of cruising through wide fjords scattered with tree topped islands until we eventually hit the open ocean. It would be twelve hours of long rolly swells against the starboard beam, nothing major for me, but many of the green-faced passengers disappeared into their cabins, not to be seen for hours.
As the last day of 2011 came to an end the crew decorated the pub on the top deck with new years paraphernalia and handed out hats, noisemakers and giant bow ties. It was quite amusing to watch everyone stumble back and forth across the dance floor as the ship rolled with each swell. At midnight we went outside to watch flares get launched into the dark sky and light up the whole ship as if it were daytime. Happy New Year!!! Celebrated in style on the Navimag somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.
A glassy sea greeted us the next morning, the ship slicing silently through the icy waters. The towering mountains around us looked like they'd had chocolate sauce poured over them and then sprinkled with icing sugar. Huge granite cliffs jutted out into the water, their sides shiny with hundreds of tiny waterfalls.
We could see a massive glacier in the distance. An icy ribbon snaking its way down the valley into the navy blue waters of the fjord. As the ship got closer we were blown away by the sheer size of the jagged blue and white ice wall.
With the bow of the ship just meters away from this frozen river, we watched small chunks fall into the water and cause strange waves that looked like a mysterious beast was swimming just below the surface.
After about half an hour the captain turned the ship and headed back up the fjord towards the most narrow part of our trip. With just meters on either side, we glided through two rocky outcrops. No mistakes could be made here.
Later in the afternoon the ship dropped anchor in a small bay and we all got ferried ashore in brightly coloured wooden boats. The town was equally brightly coloured, with tired looking fishing boats laying on their sides, paint peeling off their hulls and worn fish nets hanging from their railings.
The quintessential bearded fishermen complete with pipes, woolen pullovers and gum boots sat around on wooden benches chatting to each other and greeting us with a nod. Lazy dogs lay at the entrance of cute cottages and barely lifted their heads as we passed.
I managed to lose the crowds and found myself following some butterflies down a poppy bordered path.
A shout got my attention. "Wrong way!"
"Oops." I thought, as I turned around and jogged back to the group. That little bit of solitude was great for the soul though.
Back on the ship and one more night of cruising before we pulled into Puerto Natales the following afternoon.
As we disembarked, loaded with our backpacks, we fought the howling wind and trudged into town to find our hostel.
Due to a fire in Torres del Paine National Park, we weren't able to do our scheduled 4 day hike. We could do the hike to the Torres and another couple of hikes. We would miss going to Grey Glacier, and as this was one of the highlights of the trip, I decided with a couple of others to go to Argentina to see the next best thing - Perito Moreno.
This 250 square kilometer glacier is growing unlike most glaciers around the world which are shrinking.
It is one of 48 glaciers fed by the Southern Patagonian ice field. This ice field is the world's third largest reserve of fresh water.
Standing on a wooden platform at the base of this monster, I stared up at it's 70m high face. It spans 5km from side to side and is 30km long.
A cracking sound and a gasp erupted from the crowd as a massive chunk of ice "calved" from the glacier and sent ice and water flying. Cameras clicked all around me as people tried to get the winning shot.
It was great seeing the glacier, but the crowds were starting to get to me. Time to head back to El Calafate for some chill out time and a taste of calafate ice cream made from calafate berries (similar to blueberries).
The following morning was an early rise as we headed to Torres del Paine National Park, two hours away.
During the first part of the hike we climbed 400m, only to come back down 300m before crossing a rickety wooden suspension bridge over a raging glacial river. We carried on along gentle undulating hills that took us through shady beech forests. The sun cast speckled spots through the canopy above as woodpeckers chirped, pecked and hid behind the tree trunks every time I tried to take a photo of them.
Eventually we left the serene beauty of the forests and started our 800m climb straight up into the bleak, rocky landscape nearing the summit. Boulders the size of houses rested next to the path as we ducked under their shadows. I looked up and saw people near the top scurrying like ants across the barren terrain.
As I pulled my out-of-breath self up over the last few boulders, the milky blue glacial lake at the base of the Torres appeared. My eyes travelled along the shore and up the three immense spires of granite, melded together at the bottom, a myriad of waterfalls streaming from the snow at their base into the turquoise water. I sat in complete awe for about an hour, staring at this surreal sight.
This has to be in my top ten for the most incredible places I've seen. I picked my way over more boulders down to the edge of the water, found a flat rock and sat there in silence, away from the other chattering hikers. I could of sat there all day staring at this fantastical wonder of nature, but a yell from the boulders announced it was time for the knee-jarring hike back down.
As I passed other hikers huffing and puffing up the slope, I told them it was so worth the pain seeing that amazing sight. They just smiled weakly in return, not sure whether to believe me or not.
It wasn't all downhill on the way back. We slogged up a couple of hills before arriving back at the refugio 7 hours after we left that morning.
Our tents were set up in a buttercup-dotted field with a spectacular view of the Torres and a distant snowy mountain range. Dinner was interrupted with trips outside to watch the sun set behind the iconic monoliths. Some wine and laughter and I was done for the day. I crawled into my little north face tent and said goodbye to a day that will go down in my book as one of the best.

I decided to celebrate my birthday the following day by getting up at 5am to watch the sunrise. The Torres were bathed in a fiery glow as the sun rose over our campsite. I was not disappointed.
At breakfast everyone sang happy birthday to me and I got given a tiara to wear for the duration of my birthday.
Another lovely 2 hour hike took us over hills scattered with herds of guanacos (family of the llama), rheas (family of the ostrich) and various other wildlife. Of course, the ever present Torres were always in the background.
After reaching the top of the hill we descended into a valley filled with clover fields and babbling brooks. At one point I found myself alone and took a deep sniff of the sweet smell of the clover flowers, looked up at the cloud spattered sky, felt the warm breeze on my face as I ran my hands along the tops of the long wild grass and listened to the meadow larks chirping in the trees. With my senses in full swing, a feeling of contentment swept over me. What a way to spend a birthday!
We arrived at Lago Azul and had our lunch on a grassy bank overlooking the glacial lake complete with a reflection of the Torres - who could ask for more!
This evening the group organized a dinner at a restaurant I mentioned earlier in the trip, another happy birthday song complete with the Chilean waiters joining in and a lovely chocolate birthday cake.
A wonderful ending to a truly memorable birthday.

Punta Arenas was our next stop. It is the largest city south of the 46th parallel south. We visited a penguin colony on Isla Magdalena and saw humpback whales and orcas on the way back. The sun was still up when we arrived on the mainland at 10pm.
Pizza and a swim in the hotel's heated pool were the order of the evening.
An early morning rise and a quick breakfast before I headed out to the cemetery to take some photos of the elaborate tombs.
Our flight back to Santiago went quickly and before we knew it, we were all having our last meal together, exchanging email addresses and inviting each other to our respective countries.
Mountains, fjords and great traveling companions - essentials for an amazing Patagonian experience.

Rapa Nui - enigmatic isolation

As my taxi made it's way higher and higher into the streets of La Paz, I wondered which short cut the driver was taking to the airport. Glancing at my watch, I felt a little apprehensive as time ticked by. Finally, we arrived and I caught my flight to Santiago via Lima, Peru.
Four hours in Lima flew by as I enjoyed the business lounge delights.
Not the same could be said for Santiago. No lounges here. Caught about six hours sleep on the airport chairs before a Starbucks latte kicked some life back into me.
Fifteeen hours after I left La Paz, I boarded the plane for Easter Island.
I love business class. Snuggling under the white fluffy duvet, I napped for a while before enjoying a world class meal. Time flew.
The runway on Isla de Pascua is extra long because of it's role as an emergency landing strip for the space shuttle. As we taxied towards the terminal I peeked outside at the lush tropical vegetation and the small airport building. The luggage came quickly and I swung my backpack on and made my way to the exit.
"Iorana, welcome to Rapa Nui."said Lucinda who greeted me with a fragrant frangipani lei around my neck. At my quaint hotel, Tiare Pacifica, I was welcomed with a fresh squeezed papaya juice. The cold sweetness quenched my throat, parched from the dry air on the plane.
After checking in, I decided to do a bit of exploring on foot.
Hanga Roa, the main town on the island has a population of 5000. It's pretty spread out so it took me about half an hour to get down to the little caleta (port) where I found a cute coffee shop called Macafe and enjoyed a cappuccino with banana pancakes. Humming Jack Johnson's song in my head I watched the locals surfing and the fishermen fixing their nets on the dock as colourful wooden boats bobbed around in the little harbour.
After a couple of hours I took a wander along the rocky coast and found a perfect little spot for a sundowner and dinner. The cocktail was a Moai Sour and the meal was a local fish called Cana Cana with green curry sauce and purple sweet potatoes. All this was enjoyed while watching the sun set over the Pacific at around 9:30pm.
The following day consisted of exploring the east side of the island. We stopped at the ruins of a village and a few fallen moai. Only the foundations and terraces of the boat shaped houses remained as they were built of stone and the rest of the house of branches and palm fronds.
The moai are the enigmatic statues Rapa Nui is known for and were built to guard the villages from evil. They were carved out of soft volcanic rock in a quarry up in the hills with a sharpened tool fashioned out of basalt. The top knots above their heads were carved from yet another softer, red volcanic rock.
The ahus are the platforms built to mount the moais on. Only once the moai is placed on an ahu and coral eyes are inserted into it's eye sockets, does it receive a magical power called mana. According to the Rapa Nui people's beliefs, the moai are powerless until they receive the mana, then if you touch them you would die.
All the moais on the island, except in two locations, face inwards, towards land and the village they are protecting.
No exact theory exists to why they were all knocked down between the 16th and 17th centuries, but some archeologists believe that Spanish explorers arrived on the island and out of curiosity, touched the moais. The natives, seeing this, realized that the mana would not kill them and proceeded to knock each other's moais down to remove the protection from the villages. At this time the population of Easter Island was around 20 000, the land could not support this amount of people and food was scarce. The Spanish found a starving, dwindling population waging war against each other.
Today only a few ahus have been restored and moais raised up to face inland once again. Another few hundred lie face down, weathered away by wind and rain, or half buried at the quarry on Rano Raraku volcano. Some remain unfinished still attached to the volcano or lie abandoned, scattered around the island on their way to an ahu.
The most impressive restored ahu is Tongariki It consists of 12 moais of various shapes and sizes with blank stares, prominent noses and voluptuous lips.
Another is at Anakena Beach, Ahu Nau Nau, where 7 moais with red topknots ignore the powder sand beach and turquoise water to stare towards the hills and the ruins of a village they once protected. I, on the other hand, decided to go for a dip in the lovely warm water of the Pacific and swam open eyed along the bottom of the bay, trailing my hand along the rippled white sand, watching little fish dart out of my way.
Our final stop for the day was to see the one lone moai at Ahu Ko Te Riku that has been fully restored complete with the coral eyes, basalt irises and red topknot. You could also see the carved hands clasped over the belly.
Moais were made bigger and bigger as size became important in the amount of protection and status they provided. The largest moai lies half buried at the quarry and when excavated in the seventies, measured 12 meters.
Christmas eve I decided to go for a traditional meal of barbecued pork ribs and chicken with sweet potato, plantains and bean salad. Afterwards I sat with a frosty Pisco sour and watched a show of native Rapa Nui dances. It was very similar to the Tahitian dancing except that the men, as well as dancing aggressively with foot stomping and shouting, moved their hips more.
I made sure to sit right at the back because I knew they would be calling up the unsuspecting tourists to the stage to dance with them. No such luck, a brawny Rapa Nuian spotted my blond hair, made his way to the back and dragged me to the stage. After an embarrassing couple of minutes trying to keep up with the rhythm of the music, which seemed like it went on for hours, I received a sweaty hug and got let go red-faced back to my seat. So much for sitting at the back, next time I'll wear a hat!
"Feliz Navidad!" said a smiling girl with a red hibiscus in her hair as she set a plate of fresh cut tropical fruits in front of me. I sipped my papaya juice and opened the gift that the hotel had put on my breakfast table. An Easter Island mug - what a thoughtful touch. I made a mental note to write a good review about them in Trip Advisor.
Christmas day consisted of visiting the south western part of the island. The Orongo ceremonial village and Rano Kau crater.
A short walk up to the edge of the crater afforded us with spectacular views of the swamp like interior. Long reeds grew in a patchy lake that looked like something from an alien planet. Apparently a monk had planted various fruit trees at the bottom and now they grow wild along the edges with only the occasional adventurer taking on the steep sides to sample the delicacies below.
Wedged between the crater and the notorious cliffs that plunge into the deep blue Pacific, lies the Orongo ceremonial village. This village was created solely to house the competitors of the bird man challenge and the chiefs of the various clans.
The bird man cult started much later than the era of the moais and consisted of an important competition where young men braved the crumbling, vertical cliffs to descend to the pounding ocean below. The next leg consisted of swimming with the aid of narrow reed rafts to Motu Nui, a small island where the sooty tern laid it's eggs. The first man to return back up the cliffs to the village with an egg was proclaimed bird man for that year.
A group of carved boulders on the edge of a precipice overlooking the little island bear the petroglyphs of each bird man competition. More than 150 bird men cover these volcanic rocks and testify to a brutal, sometimes fatal competition.
As we trundled back to Hanga Roa along the dusty road, I thought of this ancient civilization of exploring, seafaring people able to find this spit of land in the middle of nowhere and settle here. Never deciphered, their written alphabet, the only one originating in Oceania, remains a mystery. Their history, not quite understood, will always capture the imagination and speculation of scholars across the world for years to come.
"Mahalo." - "Thank you," Rapa Nui for a truly magical experience.

El Camino de la Muerte - Death Road

7am - dingy hotel - La Paz - Bolivia.
Me - waiting for my pick up to take me to the top of the North Yungus road or Death Road as it has been nicknamed. After a lorry went over the edge and 100 people died, The Inter-American Development Bank named this "the most dangerous road in the world." On average 200-300 travelers die on this road annually. At least 18 bikers have perished here. Brushing those statistics aside, I hopped into the "Overdose" van with a bunch of other adrenalin seekers.
After an hour of driving, with a few stops to pick up bikes, other people and some snacks, we arrived at 4700m above sea level in near freezing temperatures.
I had layered up considerably, so I was quite snug as we received our briefing and our kit of: full face helmet, motor cross pants and jacket, knee and elbow guards and protective gloves. I got handed my Kona full suspension bike with hydraulic brakes and we headed off down 24 kilometers of tarred highway complete with gear-grinding trucks and death defying taxi drivers. It was a free wheeling downhill ride with spectacular scenery. The wind whistled through my helmet and squeezed tears out of the corners of my eyes. Towering mountains stood on either side of the road, their tops in the clouds, their bottoms plunging thousands of feet into the valley below. Mist and clouds swirled up from the depths of these gorges and caused the road to fade in and out of visibility. What an incredible feeling to zoom through this fog that seemed alive.
We arrived at the checkpoint, paid our 25 Bolivianos and headed towards the beginning of the original stone and dirt Death Road.
I gawked at the snaking road hugging the edge of the cliff and took a deep breath. As we started off, I was quite cautious, sticking to the mountainside of the 3 meter wide road, peering over the edge at the canyons far below. In Bolivia cars drive on the right hand side, but on death road, they drive on the left going down, so they can look out the window and see how close to the edge they are. Eventually we had to move to the left as there was a possibility of random trucks coming up the road.
We stopped a few times for photos, snacks and safety checks and it wasn't long before I was flying down, inches from the edge. What a rush! Waterfalls cascaded onto and sometimes over the road, as we dashed passed them.
38 kilometers later we were done. We had cycled a total of 62 kilometers and had descended 3500m from the pale Andean landscape to the green, balmy Bolivian jungle. There were a couple of streams to cross before we arrived at the sleepy town of Coroico.
Fifteen wet, sweaty and tired bikers pulled into a ramshackle town with one busy pub that was just finishing off with a group before us. "Un Huari por favor," was the common saying as everyone ordered an ice cold beer to congratulate themselves on cycling down the most dangerous road in the world - El Camino de la Muerte - The Death Road.

Surreal Salar de Uyuni

My first glimpse of the largest salt flats in the world were from a rickety public bus rattling down the gravel road towards the inconspicuous town of Uyuni. In the distance far behind the town stood a range of mountains shimmering in the mirage of the desert heat. Between them and the town lay a sea of white, glistening in the sun - Salar de Uyuni - 12 000 square kilometers of salt.
Our first stop was at the train graveyard where we roamed around the rusted locomotives, standing like dark skeletons against a bleak desert background, brought here to be used on a failed railway to the coast.
The little settlement of Colchani was our next stop, where a small salt production facility produced 20 000 tons of salt annually and exported it to various South American countries. We watched a stooped old man fill each plastic bag manually and melt it closed on a gas burner - not the most productive way of packing salt if you ask me.
Our transportation consisted of four-wheel drives as the terrain of the desert on the other side of the salt flats was treacherous and the salt flats themselves could be flooded in areas.
Passing by the salt fields we watched workers in wide brimmed hats shovel salt into even piles scattered across the area. The salt layer of these flats is four meters thick and depending on the amount of rain, it keeps producing more salt every year.
We stopped at a Salt Hotel for a lunch of llama schnitzel, potatoes and veggies which our lovely cook, Marta, prepared for us. The hotel, or more like a hostel, was completely built out of salt bricks, had a salt floor and we ate our lunch at tables and chairs carved out of salt.
After lunch we had fun taking funny perspective photos with giant wine bottles, sunglasses and humungous condors chasing us.
Off again and we headed towards Isla Incahuasi. The cars skimmed across the sea of salt effortlessly, leaving only slight tyre marks on the beautiful hexagonal patterns covering the ground. In the distance we could see the island floating in a sea of heat as the sun beat down on our two car expedition. After an hour or so we reached some water and had to shut the windows as the salty liquid sprayed up the side of the cars. Another half hour through more water, then dry salt again and the island loomed up ahead of us. I felt as if I was on another planet as I got out of the vehicle and started towards this mound of rock and fossilized coral covered in furry trichoreus cactuses. The howling wind whipped through my clothes and almost blew me over as I reached the top. Gazing at the view below me felt like nothing I had experienced before. The sea of white extended as far as the eye could see, with mountains in the distance, but only this little island as a beacon of vegetation in this desolate landscape.
Fighting the wind, we made our way back down past the teddy bear cactuses and scraggly grass tufts to the vehicles, now covered in a thin, crispy layer of salt.
The drive to our Salt Hostel for the night took another few hours as we encountered a pretty flooded area and had to drive at about ten kilometers an hour so as not to inject the salt water into every crevice of the underside of the car. At one point it felt as if I was in a boat, not a car as we drove through about two feet of water. Finally we bumped up onto dry land and left the salt flats for desert as we headed down the dusty road towards our white hotel, pale in the fading light of dusk.
Marta cooked up a delicious vegetable soup and some beef stew which warmed our chilly bones. A few glasses of wine, a card game or two, some star gazing and it was time to crawl into our salt beds for a well deserved rest.
It was a 5am rise the following morning as we had a lot of driving ahead of us. Around 6am the sky started to lighten and the rising sun bathed the mountains in a fiery red glow. We saw snow topped volcanoes, weird bubble shaped plants, steaming lakes with various species of flamingoes wading in their waters, active geysers blowing steam like a kettle, the Dali Desert, which had weird shaped rocks resembling the objects painted by the famous painter himself and desert landscapes which looked like the surface of Mars!
Our last awe inspiring sight of the day was Laguna Verde, lying at the base of Volcano Licancabur, who's summit is said to have once sheltered an ancient Inca crypt. The incredible emerald green colour is caused by high concentrations of arsenic, lead, sulfur and calcium carbonates in it's waters - a toxic lake that welcomes no life.
After driving through dust devils that looked like slinky toys dancing across the desert, it was time to relax in the little hot spring of Termas de Polques. As we soaked away the dirt of the day a herd of llamas passed by, nibbling on small bushes and giving us wary sideways glances every now and then. Leaning on the edge of the pool, I looked out across the Andean lake and snow sprinkled mountains surrounding it, took a deep breath and thought about another amazing day in the wilderness of Bolivia.
Our last day in this crazy wonderland consisted of a visit to Laguna Colorado, a lake the colour of ox-blood, due to the algae and plankton that thrive in its mineral-rich waters. Of course there were loads of flamingoes here and we watched them for a while through the rising steam as they fed, argued over who knows what and flew in pairs to different spots around the edge of the lake. The last part of our drive took us up over a mountain pass past a borax field and mining facility called Salar de Chiguana. The very steep, curvy road down the pass was slightly hair raising as we descended 800m. A shiver ran through me as we passed a memorial to six Israeli tourists who died when their car went over the edge.
Finally, flat ground again and a couple of frantic rheas (South American ostriches) trying to out run the vehicle provided some comic relief to lighten the mood.
At about 3pm we pulled into dusty Uyuni, dirty, tired and in desperate need of a shower.

Cleaned and fed, we boarded our night bus for La Paz.
As I pushed my seat back ready to collapse into a sleep deprived coma, the bus driver sped up on the corrugated gravel road. Not able to keep my head from knocking itself into oblivion, I lifted it and sighed. This is going to be a long night!