28th November 2004
Hola chicos y chicas,
Chile is alright, I suppose. I'm managing to soldier on. But it's hard.
The conference was massive, with 900 scientists from 27 countries. The opening ceremony had kids in costumes with all the flags as if it was the Olympics or something. We stayed in a four star hotel at the foot of Villarrica (the most active volcano in South America). On the first day we saw the hazard map for the area, and were pleased to note that the hotel was located in the red zone upon the lahar deposits of the 1908 eruption. Another eruption would have generated a lot of vacanices in the field of volcanology as half of my reference list was here. My talk went down quite well and my poster discussions were good too.
Following the main conference I went on a fieldtrip to learn about risk assessments for volcanoes. We stayed in log cabins, swam in a lake when we came back from the field, and ate big fat red steaks for tea. It was tough, and I don't know how long I could have kept it up.
Following the fieldtrip I have returned to the original town, Pucon, which is apparently the adventure sports capital of chile. It's a cool place, with wooden buildings, gravel roads and packs of stray dogs wandering the streets. I'm still getting used to the currency, and this afternoon I withdrew 150 grand from a cashpoint.
On Friday I got up at 06.15hrs to climb Villarrica, with a few others. Absolutely fucking awesome. One of the best things that I have ever done. The trek up would have been amazing in itself. It was three hours of steady tramping in the snow against an increasingly spectacular panorama of snow-capped volcanoes and ridges rising from a sea of clouds. It was a tourist trip, and the walking was easy. There must have been 50 people at the summit. But the tourists didn't put on gas masks and descend a short distance into the crater, which was filled with a roar like the ocean and eye-stingingly foul green vapours. 50 m beneath us, molten red lava splashed and exploded against the crater walls. My first ever molten lava! The tourists didn4t carry up snowboards on their backs, either. The descent was amazing: 40 minutes of pure bliss on perfect snow. It was black-run steep at the top, but the smooth flanks of the conical mountain formed a blank canvas on which we could carve our tracks, only turning when we wanted to turn. It'll be a long time before this smile fades from my face.
Following the fieldtrip I have returned to the original town, Pucon, which is apparently the adventure sports capital of chile. It's a cool place, with wooden buildings, gravel roads and packs of stray dogs wandering the streets. I'm still getting used to the currency, and this afternoon I withdrew 150 grand from a cashpoint.
On Friday I got up at 06.15hrs to climb Villarrica, with a few others. Absolutely fucking awesome. One of the best things that I have ever done. The trek up would have been amazing in itself. It was three hours of steady tramping in the snow against an increasingly spectacular panorama of snow-capped volcanoes and ridges rising from a sea of clouds. It was a tourist trip, and the walking was easy. There must have been 50 people at the summit. But the tourists didn't put on gas masks and descend a short distance into the crater, which was filled with a roar like the ocean and eye-stingingly foul green vapours. 50 m beneath us, molten red lava splashed and exploded against the crater walls. My first ever molten lava! The tourists didn4t carry up snowboards on their backs, either. The descent was amazing: 40 minutes of pure bliss on perfect snow. It was black-run steep at the top, but the smooth flanks of the conical mountain formed a blank canvas on which we could carve our tracks, only turning when we wanted to turn. It'll be a long time before this smile fades from my face.
I am going to stay in Pucon for the next week. I have enrolled in Spanish classes and have to go to school every morning. In the afternoons I may spend my time mountain biking or white water rafting or perhaps just slacklining on the beach. Who knows? My entire frame of mind is completely transformed from how it was a month ago, and it is good. After this I may head a bit further south, but I haven't really thought that far ahead.
I hope the winter is treating you well and that you are getting stuff done.
Later
John
4 December 2004
Ladyboys,
I am now in Punto Arenas, down in southern Patagonia. It is further south than the Falklands, and about as far south as Aberdeen is north. Tierra del Fuego is just across the bay. It is now 22.24hrs and the cars have just started to use their headlights. I like this town already. There is something about the sea air and the high-latitude light that is pure and refreshing. Coming in on the plane, the country looked like Orkney or Shetland, or bits of Iceland, with low hills and peat bogs. It4s easy to tell which way east is because all the trees point that way, and there must be something wrong with the windsocks at the airport because they all seemed to be horizontal.
Tonight Anne (the lass I stay with in Milton Keynes) and I ate in a small cafe/restaurant thing, looking for the genuine patagonian experience. For starters we ordered a seafood platter. What we got was a mountain of assorted pipes and filters and gritty rubbery brown flesh. Some bits were a bit chewy and tasteless and with the help of the dictionary we found out that they were sea snail. But for the main course they gave me a big steak with chips and onions and two fried eggs on top. Much better.
Later
John
12 December 2004
Alright,
I have come south from Pucon (donde yo he aprendido hablar en castellano), down to Patagonia, with my friend Anne from Milton Keynes.
Firstly we went to Punta Arenas, which is about as far south as it is possible to go on land, and whose harbour looks across the bay the Tierra del Fuego. Punta Arenas lies at the bottom of the hole in the ozone layer. I had noticed straight away that my eyes were a bit sensitive to the light, even though it was cloudy, but had put that down to sleeping in my contacts on the plane. Since then it has been Factor30 and sunglasses all the way, but I still somehow managed to get sunburnt thumbs.
The landscape is fairly barren and is very similar to Orkney or Shetland in its lack of trees. There are lots of sheep. It is very windy here. Windsocks are horizontal at the airport, and the few trees that survive on the hillsides all point east. The wind doesn4t even gust; it just is, and is constant and relentless. It has reaffirmed my faith that the world is round, because if all this air wasn4t just doing a lap of Antarctica and coming back round again, then wherever it was coming from would surely have run out by now.
Alright,
I have come south from Pucon (donde yo he aprendido hablar en castellano), down to Patagonia, with my friend Anne from Milton Keynes.
Firstly we went to Punta Arenas, which is about as far south as it is possible to go on land, and whose harbour looks across the bay the Tierra del Fuego. Punta Arenas lies at the bottom of the hole in the ozone layer. I had noticed straight away that my eyes were a bit sensitive to the light, even though it was cloudy, but had put that down to sleeping in my contacts on the plane. Since then it has been Factor30 and sunglasses all the way, but I still somehow managed to get sunburnt thumbs.
The landscape is fairly barren and is very similar to Orkney or Shetland in its lack of trees. There are lots of sheep. It is very windy here. Windsocks are horizontal at the airport, and the few trees that survive on the hillsides all point east. The wind doesn4t even gust; it just is, and is constant and relentless. It has reaffirmed my faith that the world is round, because if all this air wasn4t just doing a lap of Antarctica and coming back round again, then wherever it was coming from would surely have run out by now.
From Punta Arenas we visited some penguins on a windswept beach. It quickly became obvious that being a penguin is crap: they spend one third of the day in the frigid and turbulent ocean; another third 'sunbathing' on the gusting sand, and the remainder inside a dung-streaked hole in the ground. Plus they dine solely on whole raw fish and have eyes that are so far apart that they can only examine you by turning their heads to the side and looking through one at a time. Rubbish.
Afterwards we came 350 km north to Puerto Natales. It is a frontier port turned tourist trap and consists of a harbour, a church, and a grid of corrugated-iron-roofed houses and sheds, most of which now contain guesthouses, cheap restaurants and infuriatingly slow internet cafes. But it is the gateway to the Torres del Paine national park.
We spent the last five days camping and walking in the park, amongst lakes, glaciers and the freakin4 huge granite spires that give the place its name. I have arranged for permits and guides and was hoping to be climbing on the sheer and massive walls at the this very moment, but unfortunately it was winded off. So instead I am back in Natales waiting for a break in the weather. The break is not unwelcome, as Anne, who had warned me that she 'wasn4t much of a walker' was unable to carry much, so I had all the food and stoves and tent as well as her sleeping bag in my rucksack. We met another pair of hikers as we arrived, so she walked with the lass, and I the lad. It turned out that he does cross-country ski marathons in Finland and his pace was literally blistering. Hence my feet are now in pieces, and they will need to be fit before I go back, as the climbing will involve quite a walk-in.
Hopefully we can go back tomorrow morning, and will get something done. Otherwise it will be an expensive way to observe the wind-resistant capabilities of Chileno tent design.
Christmas decorations are up here now.
Later
John
18 December 2004
Ladyboys,
I ended up bailing from Patagonia. I met my guides at 07.00hrs on Tuesday morning to head to the park. It was pissing it down and had been all night. There was fresh snow on the hilltops and I could see my breath. The forecast was more of the same. I probably should have bailed a few days earlier, but the walls in the Torres were an amazing prospect, with options for 10 or 15+ pitch routes, stunning views and the opportunity to set a new route. Sometimes it is worth holding out for something amazing, but I don't think that this was one of those times. Expeditions to the Torres usually allow themselves forty days to guarantee a window in the weather. I had just a week left in Chile; the Andes are 4000 km long and it was 25 degrees in Santiago. The Torres can wait for another day.
I'm in Santiago justnow. Everyone that I spoke to said it was a dump, but I quite like it here. Fair enough; it's not Paris or Barcelona and the Rio Mapucho combines the appearance of fast flowing hot chocolate with the odour of hot piss. But it has it's fair share of grand buildings, leafy parks and pavement cafes. Perhaps it is just that my aim here is to do as little as possible. I have been enquiring about getting some climbing in nearby, if only so that I didn't transport my shoes and harness on a 40,000km round-trip for nothing. But otherwise I have just been wandering the streets and reading.
I got scammed by gypsies this afternoon, like a total sucker, when I was in the park reading. It was hot and I was quite sleepy. Two women came up to me and sat beside me. They had a baby with them and said something about needing money, so I gave them a bit of shrapnel (about 30p worth). One of them asked for a bit of paper, so I gave her an old receipt that was acting as a bookmark in my Spanish dictionary. She put something that I couldn'7t see in it, folded it up and gave it back to me. She said that it was a gift. She asked for more money, so I gave her a US dollar that someone had given me as change. She folded it up and put it in her hand. Then she took out a shiny brass cross and a little bottle of water. She began waving them about and pouring the water on the money. I had no idea what she was saying at any point, but she kept mentioning suerta (luck) and vida (life) while smiling and nodding, so it must have been good. Then she gave me back the dollar. It was all quite entertaining.
As I put it in my wallet she asked if I had any Chilean money, and looked inside. For some reason I showed her a 10,000 peso note (about ten pounds. I don't really know why. They just kept talking and gesturing and I just handed it over. I suppose I wanted to see what would happen next. As if it wasn't totally obvious. What a chump!). She took the money and began the same routine with the cross and the water.
I don't know when she made the switch, because she kept glancing over my shoulder and I kept turning round in case she had an accomplice waiting to run past and grab my bag when I was distracted. Or she may have done it as her friend whipped out her breast and began feeding the baby. Whenever she did it is irrelevant; the next time she opened her hand the money had been replaced with a lump of soggy and torn paper shreds. Gutted. And all I could say in my lame Spanish was "My money is broken". What an idiot.
Then they had the cheek to ask if I had more money (for even more luck). Using the dictionary I managed to say that I thought it was a "very skillfull game", but that I didn't want to play anymore. They thanked me, said I was their friend, then left. They were not my friends, and I sat kicking myself as I watched them move roudn the park looking for other chumps to fleece.
The 'gift' contained what can only be described as pocket-fluff. I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere.
I'm home on the 23rd.
Later
John
