Beyond words

El Chalten, Patagonia, Argentina – 06/01/2009

The first view of the Fritz Roy.

The first photograph of Fritz Roy.

The organization and dedication of the wildlife guards.

The begining of the trek to Laguna de la Torre.

The sun.

The Rain.

The mist.

The snow.

The wind, always the wind.

The hundreds of broken down trees.

The hundreds of trees burnt by human stupidity.

The steppe.

The woods.

The bogs.

The Fritz Roy river and its blueness.

The rocks of all sizes.

The Laguna de la Torrre and the same blueness.

The Glaciar Grande.

The mountains hiding behind the mist.

The return.

The silence.

The 22km we walked.

The Rancho Grande steak with 2 eggs.

The bottles of Quilmes.

The few hours of sleep.

The 7am sun.

The beginning of the Fritz Roy climb.

The 1001 views of Fritz Roy.

The smoking mountain.

The streams and rivers.

The Poincenot, the Fritz Roy, the Madsen and the Glaciar de las Piedras Blancas.

The wooden bridges.

The climbs and more climbs.

The “holas” and “hellos” of the people who pass us by.

The 1001 photos of Fritz Roy.

The Rio Blanco.

The Camp.

The first view of the climb to Lago de los Tres.

The company of Marc and Martin.

The people who pass.

The people who return.

The steps.

The stone steps.

The arrival.

The view.

The Laguna de los Tres.

The Fritz Roy in close-up.

The heroes that climb Fritz Roy.

The 1001 photos of the lanscape.

The smiles.

The pause for some food.

The wind.

The beginning of the return.

The people who pass and ask how much further.

The waters of the river we drink.

The way down.

The 2002 views of Fritz Roy.

The 2002 photos of Fritz Roy, again.

The wind.

The lunch break in the sun with a view to Fritz Roy.

The return to the hostel.

The pen that writes.

The notebook in which I write.

There are no adjectives in this world that can describe any of this.

Beauty on Earth

El Calafate, Patagonia, Argentina – 04/01/2009

Beautiful. Truly beautiful. When I opened my eyes on the plane and looked through my seat’s window to gaze upon the Lago Argentino for the first time it was exactly what I though: beautiful. Beautiful and blue. A new blue, hard to define for someone who, like me, had never seen such a blue. Bright and Rafaelesque. It was an undoubtedly magnificent welcome to Patagonia.

Once in El Calafate, a tiny conglomerate of hostels, hotels, huts, restaurants, gift shops, travel agencies and even a casino, founded on the tourist success of the neighbouring Perito Moreno glacier, I reached the I Keu Ken hostel. Let me make this perfectly clear: it is, beyond the shadow of any doubt, one of the best hostels I’ve ever been in. Comparable only to the McBackpackers hostel chain in Scotland. The view to the Lago Argentino is absolutely breathtaking, the rooms and bathrooms are immaculate clean and the staff is downright amazing. As of this moment, I want to leave a huge hug to Carolina, the Fedes, Julieta, Martin and, of course, Areco. The guests were as easy going, pleasant and laid back as the staff, so here’s another hug to Martin, Marc, Elad, Helen and Julieta’s cousins, Gisela and Virginia. At I Keu Ken I spent good long hours reading under the sun, writing, eating, playing cards and chatting with the other guests in the welcomed company of a Quilmes bottle. All in all, in a couple of words: 100% recommendable. If you’re thinking of going to El Calafate, I Keu Ken is the place to stay.

The town, as I said before, hasn’t got much to see, so this morning I decided to rent a bike an took off towards Punta Soberana, so I could have a view of El Calafate from the other side of Bahía Redonda and see a bit more of the Lago Argentino. The ride on my way there went along without a glitch, generous portions of sun very little wind and a few wild horses that gladly posed to the camera. Already beyond Punta Soberana I decided to stop and lie down on a huge rock for a little rest and sunbathing before I went back.

And then the wind came.

I awoke from my sunny slumber to face a freezing, unyielding wind and a the menace of a cloud with a not so friendly look. I got back on my bike and pedalled back to El Calafate.

And then the wind got worse.

The ride back was a real odyssey, fighting against a brutal wind which even forced me to pedal downhill and turned apparently easy climbs into climbs worth of the Tour de France. I might be exaggerating, but at that moment I’d have given anything to stop the damn wind. With the wind already in my favour it was a completely different story and, in some parts of the road, I didn’t even need to pedal at all.

In the afternoon, and as the wind showed no signs of slowing down, I decided to leave the bike alone and set off in a long walk around Bahía Redonda, where I took way too many photos of the poor horses that were grazing there, and to the Natural Bird Reserve of Laguna Nimes. I never heard such a variety of singing, chirping and whistling in such a small area.

The day, or should I say the night, ended with a delicious Kosher dinner prepared by Elad and what seemed liked an eternity playing Yaniv, an Israeli card game as simple as addictive. Now it’s bed time, that tomorrow I set out to El Chaltén, the Argentinian Trekking Capital.

Walk this way (in BsAs)

Buenos Aires, Argentina – 02/01/2009

How to see Buenos Aires in one day and a half? By walking. A lot. Really, a lot.

I arrived yesterday at 15h and, after a small adventure with the dumbest caretaker in the history of dumb caretakers, I managed to take hold of Juancho’s apartment key, a friend of a friend which allowed me to crash at his place even though he wasn’t even there. That’s why there’ll be no hostel reviews in this chronicle either. Anyway, moving on, I left all my stuff in the apartment and proceeded towards Recoleta and its parks. And what parks! The quality and quantity of Buenos Aires’ green spaces, all of them very well taken care of, is downright impressive. Truly in awe, I walked for hours from the Bellas Artes to Plaza Italia, always “on the green”.

El Che

Buenos Aires is a gigantic city and I’m usually not a big fan of such mega-metropolis (London, Madrid, Paris, Santiago, etc.). However, BsAs is a big city which knows how to be big. The ubiquitous presence of green areas and the wideness of its never-ending venues relieve the sense of claustrophobia its millions of inhabitants might cause. Exhausted after the five hour walk I returned to the flat in order to rest and prepare myself to discover Buenos Aires’ nightlife, on the first night of the year, a Thursday.

Prepared myself for nothing, it turned out, as the city was apparently stone dead, it had passed on, that night was no more, it had ceased to be, expired and gone to meet its maker, a stiff, bereft of life it rested in peace… you get the point. Eighty percent of all bars, restaurants and other commercial establishments were closed, and the ones that were open had hardly any clientele. The fact that I didn’t know the city and had only the faintest of ideas about where to go for fun also didn’t help. I walked for what seemed like an eternity to the Palermo neighbourhood only to find nothing. Then I took to San Telmo and, you guessed it, nothing. I ended up eating a hamburger in one of the few open spots in Avenida de Libertad, had myself a Quilmes and took a cab back to Juancho’s flat.

Today I woke up quite early to take care of my return from Patagonia and also to change the date for my return to Montevideo. I was expecting to dedicate several hours to these two tasks, but they turned out to be both quick and efficient. By 13h I was already done with the whole business. Went home, rested, hate and at 15h I was back on the street, to start off what was to be my longest urban walk so far. I took the Subte, the local subway, at Pueyrredon towards Catedral, the heart of downtown Buenos Aires, and, as always, I began wandering about.

I strolled into Plaza de Mayo where I visited the Cathedral, with its distinctive Greek-like columns, snapshot la Casa del Gobierno (the Government House), bought a bottle of overpriced cold water and set out towards the Obelisk, where the South American version of this year’s Dakar Rally was about to start. With the area completely packed with eager locals and tourists but completely devoid of any motos, jeeps, cars or anything else with a motor, I departed towards Retiro. Here I discovered yet another precious urban park, with a view to the Torre de los Ingleses and a statue of Gen. San Martin, the national hero. Following the cue of the slumberous locals I laid down on the grass for an hour-long dozy sunbath. The only moment of rest in the whole afternoon.

Batteries fully charged, I went back to the Obelisk on Av. 9 de Julio to mingle with the crowd and get a few shots of the motorcycles and their respective pilots. Bored to death (motorsports are really not my thing) I moved towards San Telmo through the lovely Florida Street, where I stopped to buy Borges’ “El Aleph” and two tango CDs at the mythical library “El Ateneo”. Must visit. On through calle Florida, then calle Perú and we’re in San Telmo where the bars, restaurants, tango houses, shops and tourists like me multiply themselves. It’s a party neighbourhood, and it shows. Due to my tight schedule I do not have a lot of free to linger around so, suddenly, I find myself entering La Boca, the most famous and troublesome neighbourhood in central Buenos Aires.

Home to the famed Boca Juniors football club and the godlike Maradona, La Boca is more or less what I expected it to be: a poor, very poor, neighbourhood, with a lot of adults livening up the streets, kids playing football virtually everywhere and stone-eyed elders in varying states of decay. But what really stands out, both literally and symbolically, is, of course, La Bombonera. The most famous stadium in South America (compared only to Brazil’s Maracanã) is truly impressive. Its vibrant blue and yellow plays perfectly with the colourful and somewhat derelict houses that surround it, and its striking murals are a mirror of the fierceness and character of the neighbourhood itself. Due to the stubborn non-elastic nature of time I couldn’t go in and visit the stadium, but it really wasn’t needed. The stadium had already left its mark in me.

With La Boca ticked in my checklist I went back downtown, about an hour’s walk or more, and took the metro back to flat to await Juancho’s arrival.

Piriapolis, just another beach town?

Buquebus, somewhere in Mar de la Plata between Uruguay and Argentina – 01/01/2009

The beach town, or “Balneario” as they call them here, of Piriapolis is a touristy city living off the beaches that surround it like many others. The Rambla, the street that runs along the seaside, which is laden with restaurants, casinos, gift shops, bars, cybercafés, supermarkets, entertainment centres, etc; and the amount of people walking around in bathing suits and sandals, even though the high season truly hasn’t started yet, leaves no room for doubt: it is a tourist destination by excellence.

To be perfectly honest, the town of Piriapolis itself didn’t impress me too much. It is a perfect carbon copy of a dozen other beach towns I’ve visited in Portugal, Spain, France, Brazil, etc. However, as you soon as you take the wheel of the car and drive up north it is a wholly different story. The beaches which lie between Piriapolis and Punta del Este, another huge tourist destination, are spectacular to say the least. Wide, clean, shoring a beautiful and very familiar Atlantic Ocean. All in all, beaches with undoubted quality which are definitely worth the visit.

For me it is always a bit complicated to talk about such destinations as I have lived all my life with one foot on the beach and, because of that, there are not that many beaches that can truly impress me. The ones in Piriapolis might not enter my Top 5, but they are still highly recommendable.

What makes Piriapolis truly special though, is that, besides the beach, you can find 3 “cerros” or mountains just a few minutes from the town centre. El Cerro del Pan de Azucar, the third highest point in Uruguay with its natural reserve, El Cerro del Toro, flaunting an impressive bronze statue of a bull whose testicles you should touch for good luck (yes, I did) and El Cerro de Santo Antonio, with a wonderful view of the town and of the beaches all the way to Punta del Este. The tour through the 3 Cerros is beautiful and eclectic, but I would’ve liked to have more time to do some trekking and explore them a bit further.

On the whole, Piriapolis is a beach tourist destination as many others and if for me it was a truly special stay which has left a huge smile on my lips it was thanks, once again, to the excellent company and spirit of my Uruguayan surrogate family. Priceless.

One final note, not to miss: La Rinconada, a disco with an excellent mood and fiery environment despite the not-so-brilliant music. The place to go if you want to dance, have fun and, obviously, hook-up.

Mate

Montevideo, Uruguay – 29/12/2008

I’ve had Mate before, with Brazilians, Argentineans and Chileans, each with their own rituals and preferences, but never with the same seriousness and soul that the Uruguayans put into Mate-taking.

For the Uruguayans, the ritual of taking Mate transcends the social and is inscribed into the fabric of cultural and individual identity. If the other Mate-taking nations have their own rules, the Uruguayans have a whole unwritten codex that defines the whole ritual.

One person and one person only “ceba” (prepares) the Mate that the whole group takes, “No me cebes mi mate, che”. Only about half the “yerba” is submerged. Never, EVER, touch the “bombilla”, except if you’re the one preparing the Mate. Drink your Mate until the very end, until it makes a slurping sound. If you are eating, they won’t even pass you the Mate. And never thank a Mate unless you don’t want any more, the only Mate you thank is the last one.

The list goes on.

Good people

Montevideo, Uruguay – 29/12/2008

Good people.

That would be the concise definition I’d make of the Uruguayans if I was asked to describe them in two words. But I haven’t been, and this is my blog, so I’ll dedicate a few more lines to this trouble-free people, with their arms and their smiles constantly wide open.

I usually claim that the way people talk tells us a lot about their nature. Their language, their accent, their tone, their rhythm, they say plenty about the way they are. In general, the Uruguayans talk with all the tranquillity in the world, softly singing their accent (less modulated than the Argentinean), listening carefully and talking with sense and sensibility.

Except when they’re excited. Then the tone rises, the smile cracks open, the arms dance about and the most insignificant tale or anecdote becomes a performance of contagious enthusiasm. They smile a lot and make you smile a lot as well and are generally generous, even if they have little or nothing to offer.

Even when they “heat up” and turn to harsh and violent words, they do it with every fibre in their body. Sincere to the marrow.

Monte VI de E a O

Montevideo, Uruguay – 29/12/2009

It’s not the first time that this happens to me, but I still can’t explain it.

Be it with cities, movies, women, songs, or whatever else, I can’t explain how certain things, in this case the city of Montevideo, which apparently are not particularly interesting or eye-catching, can fascinate me so much.

The Uruguayan capital is relatively small, at least for the standards of South American capitals, most of its buildings are old and poorly taken care of and the city streets and roads are in a post-apocalyptic state (if you drive, prepare for a “shaky” experience).

Nonetheless, I loved this city from the first moment I saw it. Maybe it’s its never-ending Rambla snaking along side the Mar de la Plata (more brownish, than silver) that appeals to my sea-faring nature, maybe it’s the contrast of beautiful buildings and monuments tarnished and asphyxiated by time and pollution, maybe it’s the incomparable kindness and good humour of the Uruguayans, a smiling, welcoming and generous people has none other.

I don’t know. I can’t explain why and I don’t have to explain why, but Montevideo took my heart with the same bonhomie and tranquillity of its inhabitants, ever since I set foot on it.

Santiago de Chile

Hostal Forestal, Santiago, Chile – 28/12/2008

The day I spent in Santiago can be easily divided into two completely different and well defined halves: the walk around the city centre in the morning and the trip do the Bellavista neighbourhood and the Parque Metropolitano in the afternoon.

My first impression of Santiago was not very positive. At all.

Blame it on it being a Sunday and everything being closed, blame it on being too early and there being no one on the street except for other tourists and blame it on a city centre which has basically no highlights. At all.

Starting with the ending, I would summarise Santiago (or at least its city centre) thusly: Santiago is any other town. There are no outstanding buildings (at least not in a positive sense), the resident statues and monuments could be lying in any unnamed European city and even the local shops and food stands, which usually give a very distinctive character to centre and southern American cities, are basically the same we can find in Europe.

An example?

There are eighteen; I repeat EIGHTEEN, Starbucks just in Santiago’s city centre.

Satisfied?

The best thing about this first excursion into Santiago was definitely lunch, a delicious “escalopa a la napolitana” and an excellent pebre to go with. Fed and extremely bored I came back to the hostel.

The afternoon was a completely different tale. Another time of day, another city, another life. The Bellavista neighbourhood, with its colourful houses and its myriad bars, restaurants, independent theatres and other cultural houses, has quite a vibrant and picturesque personality. Definitely the best of Santiago. At least from what I saw of its main street, bustling with people walking, eating, drinking and selling craftwork, it seemed like some other city which had nothing to do with one I had met before lunch.

Once I went through Bellavista I went up the “Cerro” (the Spanish word for Hill in this side of the word) of the Parque Metropolitano, an urban park of titanic proportions which starts in the Cerro and ends… who knows where?

The view from the Cerro, the highest point in the city I suppose, is overwhelming. Not by its beauty (if there’s an adjective I wouldn’t use for Santiago it’s “beautiful”), but for the incredible vastness of the city. It never ends. Really. You can not see an end to it. It’s all houses, skyscrapers and other buildings from the city centre to the foot of the mountain ranges which surround the Chilean capital.

I’ve never taken so many photos of such an unattractive view. Sitting on a ledge having Mote con Huesillo, a delicious local drink made of peach juice with corn beads in it, I took photo after photo of the infinite urban mantle, permanently covered by a layer of pollution which gives the photos an eerie atmosphere.

If you ask me if I liked Santiago or not, the answer will definitely be very ambiguous. I didn’t find it beautiful and I don’t think it has any sort of unique personality, but there is something about its sheer immensity that impressed me. Whether I like it or not.

Of time and stuff

Hostal Forestal, Santiago, Chile – 28/01/2008

Time is relative. Supposedly Enstein said it. He didn’t say, though, that when travelling it is doubly so.  Allow me to explain…

Between the hours of sleep I managed to capture, Galeano’s Espejos – Una Historia Casi Universal, the newspapers, the writing, the music and the movies, the over 13 hours of flight were easily spent without much ado. I got an emergency exit seat, which allowed more than enough room for my legs and for some serious rest, the movies weren’t horrible (quite entertaining actually), Galeano’s book s a wonder in print and the writing is always a trustworthy companion; so, the trip, which a priori frightened me  a bit with the  ghost of boredom, was quite easy to digest.

However, the little over two hours I spent between landing at Santiago Airport and arriving at Hostal Forestal  were excrutiatingly hard to swallow and almost impossible to digest.  Firstly, the queue I mentioned in my previous post, which I claimed to miss. It was partly true, but more than the its slow pace it’s its inconsistent rythmn that turns out to be truly annoying. Either it moves at a snail-like pace burrying me in a pit of monotony dug tiny step after tiny step, or it accelarates quite harshly giving us all hope for a swift end to this odissey. False hopes of course, shattered by the quick return of the snail steps.

The worst, however, was definately the luggage wait. Never a pleasure, I know, but this time it was sheer torture. It’s been a very long, long time (can I say ever?) since I’ve waited so long for my luggage. First, it took an unexplainable hour and a half to get the platform moving and then, and this is no one’s fault I know, my backack decided to make a very late appearance at the very last load of luggage.

What a rockstar.

Let the wanderings begin…

Barajas Airport, Madrid, Spain – 27/12/2008

Thanks to the never-ending 4 hours I am currently killing at Barajas Airport (Madrid) between my inbound flight to Lisbon and my outbound flight to Santiago de Chile, it so happens I am opening my brand new blog in the local overpriced cybercafé.

In the following 20 days or so I’ll be travelling around Chile (well… just Santiago actually), Uruguay and Argentina (Buenos Aires and Patagonia) and I intend to post here anything I deem relevant about this trip.

Obviously, the concept of “relevant” is vague at best, so you can hope (dunno if hope is the appropriate term here) to find here anything from photos of deserted airports, to my random writings, to stupid little anecdotes only I will find interesting.

Right now I am bored to tears… I’ve been wandering the airport for 2 hours now (I know it’s not much, but I am easily bored) and it’s been a dreary wait… the airport is half empty (have a couple of photos to prove it, but this computer doesn’t like my cam’s memory card), the shops are as interesting as a brick and I’ve read the newspapers I brought from Portugal twice over.

Ergo, this blog was born.

Hope you enjoy it. Will try to come back to it in Santiago, hopefully with a couple of photos to liven things up.