Vero's Adventures in Chile and Argentina

How to sum up my experiences in this amazingly varied country? I think my feet can sum it up better than I can (not to mention that I am in Pablo Nerudo country so a poem, even if delivered by my feet, seems fitting.)

During this trip, my feet have

...ascended a live volcano

...tiptoed along the ridge of a sand dune at sunset in the Valley of the Moon of the Atacama Desert

...kicked hard to get ashore after capsizing in the glacial waters of the Rio Azul (brrr!)

...helped me keep my balance while scrambling up boulders leading to the glacier carved spires that give Torres del Paine their name

...fled, shoeless, from a burning building in Puerto Varas

...been put to the test by 50+ miles of trekking in Patagonia´s Torres del Paine (no small feat for my feet)

...gratefully received their first official massage at a national park in Chile

...helped me wiggle my toes during yoga classes during my indulgent river rafting trip

...thanked me for putting them in a hot tub overlooking the mighty green river of the Futaleufu (in the aforementioned indulgent river rafting trip)

...danced like they have never danced before on the wood platform of a bar in Patagonia (rivaled only by the dancefloor at Adam and Leonora´s wedding and senior dinner dance at Williams)

...stayed on their designated path during an unforgettable visit to an island in the Strait of Magellan where they carried one very happy penguin admirer

...have racked up 12,000 frequent flyer miles (and counting!)

...have attended other people´s honeymoons (thank you Marlo and Evan!)

...floated in a salty desert lake in the Atacama

...been instructed to wear flip flops so that when they walked across crackled, salt encrusted desert plains, only 5 dollar flip flops would be ruined

...let´s face it, have smelled really bad (what´s poetry without a little reality, and what´s great hiking without smelly feet?)

...shockingly, have not received a single blister yet, and more importantly,

...are eagerly awaiting to see where they will take me next.

Vamos a Argentina!
Veronica

Although petroglyphs appear on virtually every T-shirt sold in the town of San Pedro, I had no idea that actual petroglyphs existed before I came here. None of the guidebooks mention them and only 1 of the 10,000 tourist agencies offers them as a destination. So when I saw pictures of these carved ancient artworks on the walls of Maximus Experience, my heart jumped. I immediately wanted to go. Alas, every agency in town has a four person minimum and even with the new friends that come with travel, I couldn´t think of anyone I knew sufficiently well that I could bully into the trip.

So every day I went into the little Maximus office on the main, dusty drag of San Pedro, and every day Evelyn would kindly greet me and then apologetically tell me that no one had expressed any interest besides me.

But on my last day in the desert, Evelyn had good news. Apparently my persistent nagging paid off and the owner of Maximus, Saturnino (que nombre!) relented. As it turns out, he loves them too and thinks more people should study them.

Although the petroglyphs are located not far from town (just off the main road to Calama) we encountered virtually noone for the entire morning. What we did encounter is a valley where surely dinosaurs once roamed. What I remember most about Valle del Arcoiris (Valley of the Rainbow), aside from the petroglyphs of course, is the green hillsides. They are the strangest shade of green, as if dyed wwith cryptonite. And as always, just when you think you have seen every possible result of erosion in the desert, there were strange new rock formations to blow me away.

The only person, aside Saturnino, that I saw all day was a man tending goats who crossed our path. Apparently the population of this valley was nonexistent until a few years ago, and now numbers a whopping 10. Prior to this surge in population, the only ones I know of are those of many thousands of years ago who carved their legacy directly into the desert´s rocks. We saw vicunas, llamas, flamingoes, foxes, and men sitting in ritualistic positions with strange hats or lines coming out of their heads that reminded me of Egyptian friezes. After seeing vicunas, flamingoes, llamas, and guanacos in the desert, I have to say that seeing images of them made thousands of years earlier felt like a powerful connection to the past. And what´s great about ancient art is that it depicts, very often, animals so as an art historian you need to be able to tell your llamas from your vicunas (I knew my budding camelid expertise would be good for something!) Actually I can´t really tell them all apart on the rocks, but that´s a good excuse to read up and come back to this magical place.

Time for bed. Besos,
Veronica

Hola amigos,
I am going to keep this brief since email shuts down here shortly and the most important thing that happened today (or yesterday given the time difference?) is that my dear friends Catherine and Nick gave birth to a healthy, gorgeous little girl named Josephine! What a happy happy day.

Meanwhile, after hiking through the lunar landscapes of San Pedro de Atacama (Chile´s desert) yesterday, today I felt like I visited the Dead Sea. I had signed up for a tour at one of the 10 thousand local agencies in town (picking it, Maximum Experience, because it takes you off the beaten path.) Boy were we off the beaten path. The desert I saw today looks nothing like the desert I saw yesterday! I knew there were lakes in the Atacama. Afterall, I chose to come here in part because I wanted to see the flamingoes, but seeing the lakes was still surreal. After driving through miles of low shrublike vegetation typical of any desert, we came upon our first one--Laguna de Saja. To give you an idea of how in the middle of nowhere these lakes are, I should mention that right before we arrived, our driver pointed to a tree and said this is how he knows where to find it. Picture the Sahara with one lone tree in the middle. Yep, if that arbol were ever to die, I think these lakes might go with it.

But soon we came upon a gorgeous little lake with very high salt content. One of the young women in our 5 person group (Jillian) was, ironically, a synchronized swimmer from Canada. We quickly dubbed her the Atacama Synchronized Swimming Champion. Heck, we all looked like synchronized swimming champions. I could have stayed there all day.

But there were more lakes to see so our guide promptly doused us all in water. After a few minutes, I understood why. Parts of my back turned solid white and the parts of the body that weren´t splashed looked like they were peeling. And my hair currently feels so stiff, I feel like it has the amount of hairspray one would find in the tresses of a Texas beauty pageant queen.

After visiting several lakes, we concluded the afternoon with a sunset in one of the most remarkable landscapes I have ever seen--picture a flat hard sea of salt for miles, with mountains and volcanoes and the background and occasional pools of water poking through.

But one of the best parts of the whole day was the fact that our guide, Juan Carlos, didn´t speak a word of English. And the Canadians didn´t speak a word of Spanish. I probably wouldn´t have signed up for the tour had I known, but it was a blessing in disguise. To practice one´s Spanish and swim in the desert-now that´s a well spent day.

More manana! Besos.
Veronica

First, just a little note that I am uploading these blogs out of order so you may want to scroll down and see where you last left off, or look at the dates (I am entering the dates when the experiences took place, not when I got around to transcribing them!)

Saludos desde the Atacama Desert! After being deluged with rain in Patagonia during the riverrafting trip, I was excited to be spending four days in the driest desert in the world. Given that one part of this desert hasn´t seen rain in over 300 years, I figured my sunshine odds were pretty good. And pacha mama has come through so far.

The town of San Pedro de Atacama (the gringo base for all travel here) is a funny one. The road from Calama, where the nearest airport is, seems like it couldn´t possibly lead to any kind of human life. But after an hour, small adobe structures and whitewashed churches began to appear. The town is full of character and charm, although many of the locals look like Chilean versions of the grungy teenagers that hang out on Haight Street in SF--the number of stray dogs (as in all of Chile) only adds to this unfavorable connection. Bur you don´t come to the Atacama Desert to spend your time in San Pedro buying tshirts.

I began my first full day in the desert with a visit to the tourist office in the hopes that the book of visitor feedback would help me wade through the 100 travel agencies here. Some of the comments were hilarious (guide was drunk the whole time, hadn´t planned on spending night in the desert, etc.) I decided to take a trip with Cactus Tours because Martin (lovely Brit on my Torres del Paine trek) recommended them and all the feedback seemed to agree. what´s nice about them is that they don´t just show up at a place and join the 14 seater nondescript minivan brigade that shows up at all the popular spots. Instead they head out early so that people can walk for a few hours first.

The hike was utterly spectacular. We walked through canyons of clay and salt with every texture imaginable--a true geological paradise. There were areas of rocky erosion that looked like miniature Gaudi pinnacles from La Sagrada Familia. And after tour hours of oohing and aahing, we reached our natural mecca for the day: Valle de La Luna, as otherworldly a landscape as I have ever seen. It looks like different ecosystems have been put together in Photoshop by someone who didn´t know how to make the edges blend. Dark sand dunes end abruptly and clay hills take over. My favorite part was a landscape that looked like an expanse of pinched dough but silvery blue in color as the sun set.

That´s my short recap of uno dia fantastico. More landscapes to explore tomorrow!

During this trip, I´ve often enjoyed one of my favorite vacation luxuries: having no idea what time or day it is. Saturday, March 11th is a day, however, that I will never forget. First of all, it´s my friend Brant´s birthday (happy belated birthday Brant.) And it was the first day of my much-anticipated riverrafting trip on the Futaleufu river of Patagonia. The Fu, as its called, is a big class five river and by all accounts from those who have gone on trips lead by Bio Bio Expeditions, class five fun as well. The riverrafting trip was the impetus for all of my travel in Chile, so needless to say I was excited about March 11th. And there´s no way I will forget the day now, given that on March 11th, the first night of my trip--and the only night we stayed in a hotel--the place burned to the ground.

But let me backtrack a bit before I get to the sordid smoky details. The Bio Bio group was scheduled to meet up for our first big dinner together at a nice restaurant in Puerto Varas, a picturesque little town set on a lake with snow-capped volcanos perched on the other side. There´s a strong German presence in the Chilean Lakes District that is impossible to miss between the gingerbread like architecture and the ubiquitous signs for "shops" (draft beer) and "kuchen" (cake) in restaurant windows.

I signed up for my riverrafting trip on my own but arrived to our first meal with one of my fellow travelers, Laura, who I met coincidentally the night before on the nearby island of Chiloe. I had just crawled into bed in the dormitorio room of my nice hostel when she returned from her day of travel and we discovered (in the dark) that we were not only both from Northern California but also on the same trip. So we arrived to the restaurant the next night, the last two to meet up with the group. My first impression of the group was shock that it was so big. Most Bio Bio groups are a maximum of 18 and we were 29, pretty much taking up the entire restaurant. My second impression was shock that everyone looked so nicely attired. I really hadn´t seen anything other than the standard hiking uniform since I began my travels--hiking pants that convert into shorts, smelly t-shirts and headlamps; not nice blouses and hair that clearly benefitted from a hairdryer, rather than wind. And my third impression was that the group seemed great--a wide range of ages, lots of couples, friends traveling together, a few other solos. Little did I realize how well I´d get to know everyone in the next 24 hours.

After our lovely meal, we all checked into the hotel. This was the first time BioBio has used this hotel--since we were such a large group they decided it might be fun to upgrade and booked the nicest hotel in the entire town. Hotels in Chile always offer a free welcome drink of pisco sour, so we all went to enjoy that and Kennedy, my wonderful twenty something veterinarian roommate from Alabama, and I stayed up late to chat and finish off the vino tinto left by the group. The next thing I remember is being woken from a sound sleep by banging on the door and Kennedy urgently telling me that we need to get out of our room (she had looked out the window and seen smoke. Unfortunately Chile doesn´t have american fire codes and even many of the nicest hotels have no smoke alarms.) I quickly threw on more clothes and grabbed my glasses. We hesitated for a second to debate whether we shuld try to bring more but decided it was time to bolt and just grabbed the little backpacks we had with our passports. I ran out without any shoes.

We made it down our one flight of stairs to find a village of pajama people. I especially remember one guy who wasn´t in our group who had run out with only boxers on. Kennedy and I were among the last to evacuate. But most of us thought that the situation would get under control. There was smoke pouring out of the building but no flames that we could see so we waited in hopes of getting back in at some point. But the smoke got worse and worse and soon we were seeing spiky flames as well. And suddenly I realized that I hadn´t seen Tom yet--our spry, solo 64 year old Vietnam veteran from Vallejo, California. It seemed a little disconcerting because even though we were a large group,I assumed he would be with at least someone from our group. I began to ask around but nobody recalled seeing him so I found Jorge (the riverrafting guide who was our leader for the first night and our soon to be much beloved, intrepid hero.) Jorge went into emergency mode and the next thing we both knew, Kennedy found us and said that he was hanging out of his fourth floor window. The whole situation seemed totally surreal, especially since the firemen´s ladder didn´t reach the fourth floor and it seemed like an eternity before they came up with a plan B. Eventually they rushed him out from the inside. The amazing thing is that Tom was fine and so calm in spite of it all. Chilean journalists were snapping pictures but after coughing a few times he was busy cracking jokes and assuring everyone that he was okay. Later we learned more details: like many Vietnam vets, his hearing isn´t great, he hadn´t heard the knocks on his door (unlike the rest of us, he had the room to himself) and only woke up when the smell of smoke interrupted his sleep. he saw so much smoke when he opened the door that he packed his bags in the dark, threw them out the window, and ran to the window to get some air and help. We joke now that he ended up better off than most of us--not only did he get all of his possessions, but they were dry.

In the end, noone was hurt (thank goodness) and we moved to another hotel up the hill, where we could see the flames continue to consume our hotel throughout the night. It felt like we were witnessig a live version of Turner´s painting of the Houses of Parliaments ablaze. Needless to say, it was very hard to sleep in the two hours we had left of the morning--the fire was still raging.

The next morning, our sleep-deproved group split into half; those of us who had lost belongings stayed behind to make a trip to the mall a town away to buy new clothes. Some of us were shoeless, a few were blind, and everyone was tired. Before hitting the mall, we made a little detour to the hotel to see if anything was recovered. It seemed futile to hope that anything could have been salvaged since what was left of the hotel looked like it was going to collapse at any minute. Miraculously though, many of us on the 2nd floor (including yours truly) recovered a few things--cameras were ruined, stuff was missing, and clothes were sopping wet and smelly but I was thrilled at the prospect of not having to buy clothes for my remaining 4 weeks of travel in one hour at a Chilean mall.

The trip to the mall was, in hindsight, somewhat hilarious. We had three hours to replace our earthly possessions. It felt a little like we were reality show contestants for a reality that none of us had signed up for. Not to mention how silly we all looked roaming the mall in pajamas, borrowed clothing, and unbrushed hair and teeth. Kennedy and I headed first for the bra shop and thoroughly amused the two women working there when we asked to wear our purchases out the store. Ditto for the shoe place since I had no shoes. Adding to the hindsight humor was our poor Spanish. Aside from a small handful of people, my Spanish was among the best in our particular group. That tells you how dire things were. At one point Kennedy and I went to buy dramamine for Susan and Sarah since they get seasick and we had a catamaran ride the next day since we had missed our planes. All I could muster to the pharmacist was ¨necessito¨(I need) and ¨barca¨(boat). Amazingly enough, our choppy, desperate Spanish haikus seemed to work pretty effectively.

But it was easier for us to find humor in the afternoon since we hadn´t lost as much stuff as some people. The wonderful, but initally totally shellshocked 19-year-old Sarah from Minnesota had lost everything and as the youngest person on the trip, and a particularly fashion savvy college student, I am not sure how enjoyable it was to have to buy whatever she could find vaguely near her size, and cheap. I think she was more horrified by the baggy red sweatpants she had to wear all week than she was about the fire itself. The fact that she and her mom had matching clothes clearly didn't help. And then there was Don from DC who owns a fashion boutique and managed to lose 8 thousand dollars worth of clothes. I have no idea how anyone who is just going on a rafting trip and sleeping in tents could have 8 thousand dollars worth of clothes, but the one shirt left on his back was one of the nicest shirts I have ever seen on a man, so I guess it is possible.

But once we actually arrived in the town of Chaiten and were on our way to base camp, we were all starting to come out of shock. It wasn´t long before we were all calling our fire survivor ¨Toasty Tom¨ and cracking jokes about not having to worry abut the 35 pound luggage weight limit for the little plane we were supposed to have taken to Chaiten. And we couldn´t resist referring to ourselves the way the local newspaper had: ¨Touristas sin Ropa" (Tourists without clothes.) That got a lot of mileage and laughs.

There were many good things that came out of our crazy ordeal. After spending 24 sleepless hours together and surviving a fire, we were an incredibly tight group at a point in the trip where we should have still been learning each other´s names. And generosity came out in full force. The entire trip consisted of so much clothing and money lending that it was hard to remember what was who´s by the end of the trip, especially since half the lent items were unfamiliar purchases. (I particularly enjoyed seeing all the guys on our trip use the heart-shaped carabiners I couldn´t resist at the mall.) And we savored our trip, the river, and each other´s company to the fullest. Being grateful to be alive led to some VERY serious partying. And Jorge, the wonderful Costa Rican white water champion who was our fearless leader during the fire, found himself one much appreciated and beloved river guide. At least five times a day we would spontaneously erupt into song: ¨Jorge Jorge Jorge Jorge! That dude is hot, hot, hot. (2 second pause) That dude is hot, hot, hot." God bless Peter (aka Knappy) from Philadelphia for the anthem, and for keeping us all laughing all week.

As the week progressed, I felt like I was on the adventure trip of a lifetime, enjoying one of the most beautiful rivers in one of the most beautiful places...and sharing the experience with Jon Stewart (aka Knappy), many amazing new friends, a male Chilean Alice Waters as our chef (we love you Christian), and with some of the sweetest and hottest riverguides you can image at the helm. (Dad, if you are reading this aloud to grandma now, you can say ´most handsome.´)

Salud!