Awesome Argentina

AKA Just another couple of days kicking about in Argentina

I went to El Calafate. It has a huge glacier - in the same way Niagara Falls has a huge waterfall - and hence is a bit of a tourist trap. This means, of course, that there are lots of good restaurants, lots of good shops, and lots of options for visiting. It’s not all bad. You can take the Maid-of-the-Mist equivalent boat and motor up close, or walk the viewing ramps, or kayak by, or mountain bike alongside, or do mini-trekking on the ice. How to choose? I asked a young man at my hostel what he’d done, and I loved his answer. ‘I did the mini-trekking,’ he said, ‘but it doesn’t matter what you choose. The glacier is so awesome that any option is good. Whatever you do, you won’t regret it.’  Yup. He was right. I chose the viewing ramps, the most touristy of all options, and I loved it. The glacier was awesome. Even the ramps were awesome. It was just an all-round awesome day.

Note 100 seater "Maid of the Mist" boat

It's hard to show the scope of the glacier... I recommend everyone just visit!

The next day I went with a small group on a guided walk through the badlands. A few years ago a rancher found petrified tree trunks on his property and asked if there was a government paleontologist who would like to come and check them out. There was one, and he did, and yes, there were petrified trees lying about, but also dinosaur bones, just there, exposed, all over the place. The paleontologist walked 3 km, made two major discoveries, wrote a couple of articles for National Geographic, and never came back. We had a wonderful walk through the bizarre landscape and saw lots of both petrified tree trunks and dinosaur bones lying on the ground. It was all very natural, they were being exposed as the wind and water eroded the softer sandstone away, but then not being collected or preserved in any way, and, eventually, being washed down streams and carried off. The guides find new dinosaur bones all the time but don’t know enough to identify them and can’t interest the government, or any universities or museums, into funding excavations. It was a fascinating walk. We also saw condors, and llamas, and, of course, really cool rock formations. 

OK, this is a petrified tree, now where are those dinosaur bones?

Forget the other stuff, I loved the rocks.

Yup... just another couple of awesome days kicking about in Argentina!

A vote for private health care

Gynecological woes AKA A vote for private health care

Six years ago at my annual check-up my doctor decided to send me to a specialist in Ottawa. I was over-employed at the time working 48 hours per week at AECL and also teaching real courses at Mackenzie, but I took her advice and went down to Ottawa for the day – several months later of course when an appointment was available - feeling somewhat guilty about taking two sick days, one from each employer, for a one hour out of town appointment. It was not a good day: I got lost, couldn’t find the clinic I was supposed to go to, ended up parking illegally because I was late, then got turned away by the receptionist and not even allowed to see the doctor because my health card was out of date, and, of course, upon returning to my car a mere 15 minutes after I had left it, found a parking ticket on it. I think I sat in it and cried. I didn’t bother going back. A few years after that my doctor asked if I had seen the specialist. I said no so she signed me up for another appointment and therefore, a few months after that, I was driving back down the highway to Ottawa again. By this time I was unemployed i.e. merely supplying, but, believing that medical care is important, I gave up a supply day to go - which is like throwing away money. I’d checked that my health card was up to date and made sure I parked legally, but, as luck would have it, the doctor had been called away on an emergency and was unavailable that day. The receptionist told me she’d left a message on my machine at 8 am, but, by then, I had already been wheel-deep in slushy snow on highway 17. It was not a good day. My doctor never asked if I’d seen the specialist and I didn’t volunteer the information.

But, now, I am thinking of heading out into the Pacific for four months, far far from any health care, and there is this wee possible problem that I haven’t had checked out properly (well, at all, actually) that is worrying at the back of my mind. Is it safe to go? Should I fly back to Ontario first and try to get short-listed with the specialist in Ottawa I’ve never met? How long can little problems go ignored? What if something were to go very wrong all of a sudden out at sea?

I tried to skype Ontario’s excellent telehealth system but skype kept cutting out on me, I tried to get a friend to look into the problem for me from home but she kept running into confidentiality issues, I looked up the cost of return flights to Ontario and almost fainted. I wondered if, having ignored the problem for six years, I could just ignore it for four months more. But, but, I hate to worry…

Then, on Monday, the day I was planning to leave Punta Arenas, I found out that busses didn’t run that day, so, with a whole day free in the booming southern metropolis, I decided that I’d try to see if I could possibly see a specialist. And, to make a long story short, the answer was yes. Wow! The tourist information booth directed me to a private clinic and that very afternoon I was able to schedule an appointment with an appropriate specialist. The clinic didn’t recognize my OHIP card or my husband’s Manulife Financial card (which I am still covered under) so I was told, somewhat shamefacedly, that I would have to pay $ 25 000 cash up front. But, since 25 thousand pesos is only about 50 bucks, I was thrilled. I would have paid a lot more. It was certainly less than a flight home! And, like a cherry on top, the gynecologist that saw me was young, male, cute, funny, intelligent, knowledgeable, and thorough. And, he also told me that my wee problem was nothing to worry about. He said I could go sailing for at least two years without a care in the world. (Unfortunately I fear he was likely only speaking to my gynecological issues not my financial ones when he said this but I will take what I can get.)

Also, politically incorrect as it might be in a socialist country like Canada, and apologies up front to any offended by this, then, if my experience is in any way typical of the sort of service that private health care gives, I know where my vote goes. Go private health care!

(Sorry no photo to go with this post!)

King Penguins

AKA  The Nosy Penguins and The Bossy Penguin Lady

I took a day trip to see the wild king penguin colony on Tierra del Fugeo. It’s a privately owned place, like the meteor crater in Arizona, not a park. Some king penquins decided to set up a new colony – no one knows why – and the owners of the land saw it as a good opportunity to make a buck or two. The day I was there it was being manned by a very bossy penguin lady who must have told us at least 15 times that we were not allowed to cross the line of rocks, that we were not allowed to approach the penguins, that they were wild, etc, etc… I am sure you know just what kind of person I am referring to. However, officious and overbearing as she was, the penguins paid her no heed. Since we weren't allowed to go and see them they came to see us. I am sure she was infuriated but the kids, photographers, other tourists, and I, were all thrilled.

The flamingos, on the other hand, didn’t even bother to wake up to say hi.

Yup – just another awesome day in paradise!

Southern History

Southern South America AKA A bloody history

The first inhabitants of Tierra del Fugeo, the archipelago of islands off the southernmost tip of mainland South America, arrived there about 12 000 years ago having walked all the way from Africa via Alaska. The first thing they did, of course, being human, was to hunt giant sloths and other such easy-to-catch prey to extinction. When Magellan sailed by, in November 1520, he discovered a people who lived, despite the frigid temperatures and constant howling wind, almost totally naked. The men hunted sea mammals and birds and the women dove in the icy waters for shellfish. To keep warm they huddled around fires much of the time, in camp, on hill tops, even in their canoes… hence the name “land of fires” given to the region. Magellan, by the way, was on his famous expedition which was the first successful circumnavigation of the world. (He did not survive the trip, in fact, only 18 of the 237 who set out survived, so successful is a questionable adjective…) However, in my continuing, brief, saga, Spaniards eventually settled the land to use as pasture for sheep, and, since the aboriginals found sheep easy to capture and eat, they, the aboriginals, not the sheep, were consequently summarily executed. Not a nice history at all.

Now the museums remember both the sloths and the first inhabitants…

tall ship festivals hark back to the days of seafarers…

and the current military might of Chile is celebrated with grand parades.

(At least, that’s what I saw when I was there.)

Torres - the photo essay

Andre always wanted to drive to South America. I didn't get it. Why not sail, I thought, wind is cheaper than gas. 

Geoff always talked about hiking. I didn't get it. Why not canoe, I thought, and have the water carry your gear. 

Now I get it. 

Even from the bus window we could tell that we were going to a special place.

I carried all my stuff with me: tent, sleeping bag, dry clothes, and food...

... and took selfies each time I stopped for breakfast on the trail.

Most paths went through forests...

... with some bridges....

and some ladders.

... with glaciers peeking through the crevices...

... and hills peeking through the trees.

The path was marked by inuksuks...

... and went past waterfalls.

I took close ups of glaciers,

the rocks at the bottom of the Torres,

of the flora, 

and the fauna.

And at the end of each day I flung my arms wide and was just happy to be here.

NB Other blog entries at: www.whitecloudsflying.blogspot.com

Torres - the story

“IN-F**ING-CREDIBLE!,” says Darren, about 23, with long red curly hair and large tattoos on his bare feet. I met him first on the ferry and we are both hiking independently but at about the same pace so we cross paths often. His socks and boots are drying on a nearby rock. “Yes,” I echo, “It is. It is IN-F**ING-CREDIBLE. The whole day has been incredible. The whole week. Who knew Chile did national parks so well? It makes you want to go to every single national park in the whole world.” Darren nods vigorously, grinning in agreement. We are standing at Mirador 1, half way up the French Valley, and in front of us is a wall of black mountain with blue sky above and white snow below. Just then, as if the mountain also agrees, there is an ear-splitting crack, like thunder directly overhead, and part of the glacier at the top calves off. This is followed by several minutes of reverberating freight train roar as the cast-off ice-chunks avalanche thousands of feet down in a cloud of fury to the valley below, the natural amphitheatre of the bowl magnifying the sound. “IN-F**ING-CREDIBLE!,” Darren repeats.

The path around this mountain takes about a week to walk. For the most part it is almost at sea-level, meandering gently through forests, but every day is different and wonderful. Mountain streams cut deep side valleys into the hills and we cross over these on suspension bridges or climb up and down ladders - wearing our heavy backpacks - to get to the other side, while glaciers peek at us from below and hills from above.

Even the bus ride into the park from Puerto Natales was excellent. It went first through farm land with sheep and cows grazing below folded hills reminiscent of the expensive cloth worn by kings in renaissance paintings and then by rougher land full of wild llamas and emu-like birds.

Sometimes, on a wee 900 m vertical detour up a valley, you find yourself above the tree line, the path marked with inuksuks, and it is so beautiful you stop to eat lunch on a big rock, and, no one else in sight above or below, you burst into song, and sing, as loud as you can, every song you know about mountains, each one a prayer of joy and thanksgiving for the privilege of having the opportunity to visit this amazing place. High high above the condors ride the thermals, mere black dots against the blue of the sky and the highest frost-white peaks, and you know, without a doubt, there is no way, with pictures or words, you can communicate the vastness and beauty of the space. The whole week feels like the fourth best thing that has happened in your life (your three kids being first, second, and third, of course).

On the last morning everyone gets up at 6 am and climbs a steep rocky path in the pitch dark, their head-lamps a torch light parade, to get to the Torres and see the first rays of sunlight hit the rock towers and turn them red. We negotiate rickety bridges over fast flowing icy-cold streams, sections of wet, slick, unstable scree, and large boulder fields. When we get there it is cloudy, and spitting rain, and so windy that the surface of the small lake is constantly whipped up into water spouts. The gusts of wind, punching in from all directions, are actually scary, so I huddle under a rock with three German men taking comfort in their presence. I don’t mind at all that we don’t get one of the iconic sunrises, which are, after all, very rare. A sign in the campsite says, ‘Don’t ask us about the weather. We don’t know. This is Patagonia. It will likely be cold and windy and rainy today. It might snow.’ Our week has been a lovely Indian Summer for the most part and I am glad to be getting a bit of the real Patagonian experience. Now all I have to do is not get blown off the path, literally, on the way down. I had considered staying longer, buying expensive instant oatmeal and pasta from the meager campsite stores, hiking another six days, but the wind and rain of the last day convince me to head back ‘home’ to my hostel and then afterwards to go onward, see what else this part of the world has to offer. 

It has been wonderful, as in full of wonders, and awesome, as in full of awe. I am sorry that the week is over. But I am thrilled, thrilled beyond words, to have been here.

Ferry South

I’m not sure what I thought the word “ferry” meant. In my mind I had pictured a “people ferry” and what we got which was undoubtedly a “cargo ferry”. Trucks, and herds of cows, were being unloaded as we got there and we waited 12 hours before leaving while truck after truck came on and had its cargo unloaded and stowed.

We get on

Cargo is loaded and stowed

For a ferry with no amenities it was a surprisingly fun trip, however, very companionable. There were only 3 or 4 dozen passengers, 6 to a room in bunks, and so, over the period of 4 days, we all got to know each other. We hung out occasionally in the dining room, the only common room, but more often outdoors on the decks watching the scenery go by - water mostly, and oddly shaped hills, and often low grey clouds - or, if it was very wet, up in the bridge. The weather was sporadic; sun, rain, snow, clouds, wind… it was very much a ‘if you don’t like the weather wait five minutes’ few days. Seals popped their heads up beside the boat, dolphins and whales passed by, there was one island covered with penguins, but mostly it was grey out, cloudy and mysterious, very Jurassic Parkish… side fjords led away and it seemed equally possible that they had glaciers or dinosaurs lurking in their depths.

We all got off at the only stop, Puerto Eden, and agreed that it would be a lonely place to live.

Tourists on the way to ...

... Puerto Eden.

I totally enjoyed the experience and was sorry it was over. 

(But look forward to taking the ferry north with Suzanne one day!)  

Shopping for a 1-person tent

It is September here…

(Last week I did a quick trip from the boat downtown to pick up a single item that Sven needed - and didn’t take my camera with me - and then I was met with the sight of every student in town, between the ages of 3 and 18, walking home from the first day of school in their brand new school uniforms, the girls in white shirts, grey plaid skits over grey leggings and grey knee socks, and a whole slew of different coloured sweaters, the boys in grey flannel pants and similar sweaters or dark blazers, depending on their age. Apparently all the schools give out school supplies here on the first day of school which the kids take home. The kids were laden down with very full backpacks and each one was also carrying a large package wrapped in brown paper, their sketch book for at home. Any one of many groups of them would have made a great photo. Sob.)

… and I have been trying to buy a tent.

 Lisa doesn’t think I should go off hiking by myself. She has been trying to get Sven to forbid it. Sven, fortunately, thinks I am old enough to make my own decisions. But Lisa’s constant fretting about how dangerous it is, how cold it will be, how heavy my pack is, how hiking isn’t a thing you ought to do on your own, how scary it will be, how little I will have enough to eat, and so on, is starting to get to me. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am insane. But ‘my’ boat isn’t sailing for a month, and the best thing to do around here is go hiking, so that is what I plan to do.

It doesn’t help that today, the day I am leaving and taking a ferry south for three days to Patagonia, is the first wet day here. Still safe in my cabin, half asleep under my warm dry duvet, I wake to hear the wind howling and the rain pelting down. (I am such a wuss. The boat is moving more than usual. I know it’s firmly tied up. The captain left earlier this very morning, he’s going home to Denmark, and he would not have gone without first ensuring that his boat was going to be fine. But I still worry, ‘Are we OK?’. Man, what happens when we get out to sea if we have a bit of wind or rain? I’m going to piss my pants then for sure. Heck, here, in dock, I’m almost doing just that!) Also, to be truthful, it doesn’t seem the most beautiful weather for taking the ferry south, or, for that matter, for hiking in. Last night I checked the forecast for Torres del Paine and it says wind and rain and snow and thunderstorms for the whole of the next 14 days. Yay. I didn’t really know if I was up to doing this anyway, and now, what with all of Lisa’s comments and then this weather… AARGH. I am quite sure I wouldn’t be happy hiking, even with the best group of friends, in terrible conditions, wet and cold and tired and no views to see because of the clouds, let alone on my own… I will take the ferry south today however. And will see.

Back to my tent. Since I hadn’t envisioned hiking as part of my itinerary before I left home I didn’t bring any hiking gear with me. And I don’t really want to rent stuff, which is presumably top-quality but designed for the average hiker, 20 and male and buff and brawny. I want to carry as little as possible, being old and grey and apparently too forgetful to have remembered to bring one of my sons with me, so I have been looking for a little tiny tent. Fortunately, since it is September, most of the stores have their camping gear marked down 70%, unfortunately, most of what they have left is 5 or 6 person tents, fortunately, after searching like a rat, I finally found a very nice little lightweight 1 person tent, unfortunately, it was in the one store that didn’t have a sale on. And, sigh, it is sort of a lonely thing to do to buy a 1 person tent. I am going to be hiking on my own here, yes, but, somehow, buying a 1 person tent (besides being outside my budget, which is a total aside) comes with seriously forlorn and lonesome overtones. (Who knew?) Am I, by buying this tent, admitting on some level that I will be alone forever, that I will be hiking by myself for the rest of my life, that I will always be single? (I hope it’s good enough, by the way, for the lousy weather in the forecast!)

Oh no! As I am sitting in the ferry waiting room, typing this, I kid you not, someone comes by and comments that they don’t think my tent will be waterproof enough. Really? Talk about adding insult to injury. I am crushed. My new expensive tiny lightweight tent not even good enough? ‘But I can carry it,’ I point out, an argument my tent-insulter concedes as valid, though perhaps somewhat misguided. ‘Have you seen the forecast?’, he asks. Oh no! Why, oh why, is my life never easy?

I am no longer anticipating enjoying the coming month. I merely want to survive it. (And not embarrass myself or my country by doing something so stupid as to need rescuing). Roll on Patagonia!