The Final Tally

After three glorious months, my trip is now at an end.  It's hard to believe it's already over.  But in lieu of a rambling meditation about my thoughts and feelings, I offer the following stats:

• Days spent traveling: 87
  
• Flight legs: 26
• Continents visited: 4 (Africa, Asia, South America, Antarctica), although I suppose it's technically 5 if you count my brief return to North America (which I don't)
  
• New continents visited: 1 (Antarctica)
  
• Countries visited: 10 (South Africa, Namibia, Zimbabwe, Botswana, Tanzania, Cambodia, China, Argentina, Antarctica, Chile)
  
• New countries visited: 9 (China is the only repeat)
• Travel companions: 6 (Vijay, Eileen, Monju, Mom & family, Bradfitz & Nick & Rebecca, Rose)
• Logistical glitches: 2 (Airport transfer in Arusha, boat cancellation in Torres del Paine)
  
• Unexpected returns home: 1
• Multiday hikes: 2 (Kilimanjaro, W)
• Day hikes: 4 (Table Mountain in Cape Town, two day hikes in El Chalten, hike up volcano in Rapa Nui)
• Times lost on trail: Surprisingly few, the only notable time was in El Chalten, and even then we weren't truly *lost*, just offtrail
• Souvenirs purchased: 6 (at least 3 are gifts)
• Sightings of other Seahawks gear: 2
• Sightings of other Mariners gear: 4 (though at least 1 didn't know what it was)
• Items lost: Substantial chunk of cash (Namibia), 2 cameras (transit from Jo'burg to Arusha, Antarctica), lip balm (Kilimanjaro), warm hat (Ushuaia), scarf (Antarctica), sunglasses (false alarm in Antarctica, for real at Easter Island), and probably more that I'm forgetting (this is why I can't have nice things)
• Items damaged: $8 watch (second hand fell off and began obstructing the other hands, so I trashed it in Buenos Aires), hole in the seat of one pair of trousers, expanded rip in the thigh of one pair of jeans.
• Injuries: Innumerable cuts and scratches, copious bruises, 1 walking blister, 1 kayaking blister, 2 biking blisters, 1 bruised tailbone, 2 worrying knee twinges that went away after more walking
• Weight gained: Don't want to think about it
• Sicknesses: Slight cold (Cape Town), some allergies (southern Africa generally), slight altitude (Kilimanjaro), a little sea (Drake Passage).
• Mosquito bites: ~15 (Cambodia)
• Times I wondered why I was so tired when I hadn't taken my vitamins/iron pills: ~11
• Old friends lost: 0 (as far as I know)
• New friends made: Several
• Arrests: 0
• Deaths: 0
• Fun: Heaps

Definitely a success in my book.  The world is full of beautiful and interesting places, and I feel incredibly lucky to have had the opportunity to visit so many of them on this trip and others.

I'm also extraordinarily privileged to live in one.  Sometimes it's good to come home.

PS: I give it a couple weeks max before wanderlust strikes again.

PPS: GO HAWKS!

Rapa Nui (Easter Island)

Rose had to go home on Sunday night, so on Monday morning I flew solo to Rapa Nui, otherwise known as Easter Island (so called because the first Europeans to see the island arrived on Easter Sunday).  A 5.5-hour flight away from Santiago, Rapa Nui is apparently the most remote inhabited location in the world and the waters are reportedly the clearest in the world, devoid of coral reef, plankton, or other plant life.  The coast line is absolutely gorgeous and the moai (statues) are awe inspiring.

I went on two full day tours of the primary archaeological sites on the island.  The restored moai generally stand on ancient ahus (stone platforms) in groups of various sizes, ranging from 1 to 15.  Most people think that the moai are "big stone heads" that face the ocean.  Actually, the moai were all carved to have bodies -- the famous heads (see left) are really full statues with the bodies buried in the ground.  The heads, massive as they are, are only about 1/3 of the entire statue.  Moreover, almost all of the moai actually face inland, not out to sea, because the statues look toward the villages that built them.  The one exception is Ahu a Kivi, where the seven moai face the sea.  According to legend, this is because these particular moai represent the seven Polynesian explorers who initially found the island and reported its location to their people, so they look across the sea from which they came.  Or they could simply be facing the village, which in this instance was not a coastal fishing settlement but an agricultural community further inland.

The highlight of the tours was the stone quarry where the moai were carved.  You can see moai in various stages of construction, including statues carved directly in the rock -- one would have stood about 5 stories tall if it had been removed from the cliff and put up.  There are also a plethora of moai that have been removed from the rock that were prepared but, for whatever reasons, never taken to their final locations.

We also visited most of the major moai locations.  Some moai were carved more homogeneously; others seem deliberately designed to be heterogeneous.  Only one moai has been restored to have eyes (see right), which were fashioned out of coral and obsidian, and installed only after the moai were moved and raised.  In some places, the moai have not been restored, but have been left fallen down, in many instances with the heads separated from the bodies.  Although many of the moai fell due to disrepair, others were pushed down, either during the dark period of internal warfare or after most of the island converted to Christianity.  There are also several caves of interest; some have pictoglyphs or rock art, and many were used by the islanders to hide from Peruvian slave raids during the mid-1800s.

Finally, we visited the restored village of Orongo, where the yearly "bird man" ceremony took place.  During the late period of island history, this ceremony was how the island chief was chosen each year; each village chief could choose a proxy to climb down the cliffs and swim out to the islets.  The chief of the person who brought back the first egg of the sooty tern bird would then be chief of the island for the year.  It isn't totally clear what power this brought, however, since the island chief spent the first three months of his tenure in meditation (maybe this was the previous chief's lame duck period?).  Go figure.

I also had a full day and a half beyond the day tours to myself, during which I took it pretty easy.  I hiked from town to the top of one of the volcanoes, did some reading (a little odd to be reading about polar exploration on a South Pacific island), spent a lot of time looking for sea turtles, and spent even more time pouting about not seeing any sea turtles.  

Also, since Rose wouldn't go bike riding with me in Santiago, I rented a bike and took a ride along the coast.  It sounded like a good idea at the time, even though everyone said the road was bad, because there weren't any cars allowed on the road and, as I mentioned, the coast is pretty.  But there's a difference between hearing the road is bad, seeing the road is bad, and feeling the road is bad.  This road made the dirt paths in Cambodia look like freeways.  I wound up walking the bike for most of the hard parts, which inconveniently always seemed to coincide with inclines and declines.  (Admittedly, my threshold for "hard" on a bicycle is pretty low.)  All told, I probably walked the bike around half the time along this road, so somewhat less than half the distance.  But I managed to make it the entire way without falling or otherwise hurting myself, so I'm going to go ahead and call it a win.  (My threshold for "success" on a bicycle is also pretty low.)  I took a different, far easier route back.

On two evenings, I met up with the other solo traveler on my day tours for dinner and the Rapa Nui cultural dance/music show.  Definitely commercialized, definitely touristy, but also definitely fun.

In sum, a fantastic place to visit, but I think 3 full days and 2 half days was just about right.

Santiago

Upon hearing that we planned to spend three days in Santiago, just about everyone we spoke to (Chilean or otherwise) asked: "Why?"  Then, they explained that we should go to Valparaiso instead, at least for a day trip.  But organizing a day trip sounded like it would be hectic and a lot of work, and since our change in flight time meant we arrived at 4:00 a.m. on our first day, we opted for a more relaxing schedule and stuck around.

Although Santiago isn't my favorite city, I don't know that it quite deserves the apparently ubiquitous dismissive attitude.  It has some beautiful parks and some nice areas.  Most importantly, we had fun there -- it wasn't a bad place to recuperate from the high adventure of Antarctica and Patagonia.  We took a walking tour that gave us a basic overview of Chilean history; ate mediocre, overpriced seafood at the Mercado Central; met up with friends from Antarctica for a Thanksgiving meal where the Italian food was surprisingly terrible but the company was excellent; wandered aimlessly around neighborhoods close to our hotel; thoroughly enjoyed a Chilean cooking class where we made pisco sours, ceviche, empanadas, and leche asada; and showed up to dinner at a fancy restaurant wearing flannel, ripped jeans, and chucks (OK, that was just me -- but Rose was also underdressed!).

But our most fun day was spent less than an hour outside Santiago visiting three boutique wineries in the Casablanca valley.  Each winery was quite different from the others.  For example, Kingston, our first winery, is owned by a family trust, is located on land that has been owned by the family for over 100 years, and each wine is named after a favorite family horse.  In contrast, Quay, our last winery, is the joint winemaking project for a group of 11 wine growers in the region.  Several of the wines were quite good; my favorites were the two reds (one pinot noir, one syrah) from Kingston.

So, yeah.  Santiago isn't a bad place to spend a few days, even though for me at least it isn't a destination of choice in its own right.

Puerto Natales & the W Circuit

I thought I'd reached scenery saturation after visiting Antarctica, and that no vista would ever awe me again.  But I was wrong: the W was also sublimely, breathtakingly beautiful.

Rose and I flew from Ushuaia to El Calafate, then took a private transfer to Puerto Natales, our first stop in Chile.  Even though the operation ran seamlessly, it was still a pretty long travel day, especially due to the border crossing.  We rewarded ourselves with a great dinner.  Then, after we ran several errands the following morning (including my purchase of a new, cheaper, inferior camera), we rewarded ourselves with a fantastic lunch.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, it was the last good food we would eat for several days.

We spent the afternoon busing to Refugio Central in Torres del Paine, where we relaxed and rested up in preparation for beginning the hike the following day.  We'd opted for "full board" when we arranged the trek, meaning that we had prepaid for: (1) welcome pisco sours, (2) dinner, (3) breakfast, and (4) boxed lunch.  Dinner: dry chicken breast with no sauce accompanied by watery rice, with over-gelatinized orange Jell-O for dessert.  Blech.

The actual walking portion of the trek began the following morning, when we hiked up to see the eponymous Torres del Paine (Torres: towers in Spanish, Paine: blue in Mapucho).  We were pretty lucky with the weather and could see all of the towers, though there was a bit of fog preventing perfect postcard shots.  This particular section of the circuit reminded me quite a bit of El Chalten: hiking up through rocks to reach a glacier lake at the base of gorgeous mountains where the wind gusts so ferociously it'll take your hat off if you aren't careful.  We reveled in the natural beauty while we ate our lunch: an enormous sandwich of shredded dry chicken breast, mystery cheese, and crumbly bread that resembled foccacia in look though not in taste or texture.  Blech.  Afterwards, we descended to our second (and worst) refugio.  Dinner: dry chicken breast with mystery sauce accompanied by sauceless, overcooked pasta.  Blech.

Our second hiking day was pretty short; we spent four to five hours walking through a beautiful valley brimming with firebush and other flowers.  I rediscovered my pre-Antarctic love of vegetation, exclaiming over all the gorgeous flowers and trees.  We ate our lunch (sandwich of shredded dry chicken breast, mystery cheese, and crumbly bread -- blech) by the waterfall at our next refugio, where we'd upgraded to a private cabin (instead of beds in a dorm room) with access to a hot tub.  Hot tub, under these circumstances, means a wooden tub filled with water that is heated (unevenly) by a wooden stove.  Although the water was a bit murky and questionable, it was a pretty pleasant way to spend the afternoon.  Dinner: dry chicken breast with mystery sauce accompanied by pasta with mystery green covering.  Blech.

The next day, French Valley day, was both our longest and our best day.  There's no way to describe how amazing it is to be surrounded on all sides by insanely beautiful heterogenous mountains.  I took a few photo spheres, hoping they could communicate some of that feeling, but no dice.  You'll just have to take my word on it.  (Lunch, however, was not amazing: the same dry chicken sandwich with mystery cheese and too much mayo on crumbly bread that was now also stale.)  We spent the following night in a refugio run by a different company.  Dinner: Pork chop and pink mashed potatoes.  Definitely an improvement.

On our last day, we fought through high winds spraying rain horizontally into our faces to reach the Grey Glacier.  We rewarded ourselves by ditching the terrible sandwiches and buying hot lunch at the refugio near the glacier.  That bean soup with meat was far and away the culinary highlight of the circuit.  Bolstered by the meal and with the wind at our backs, we arrived back at our refugio with plenty of time before our 6:30 catamaran trip out of the park.

A few minutes before 6:30, we joined the queue for the boat.  At 6:30, no boat.  At 6:35, no boat.  At 6:40, a park ranger arrived and told everyone the boat had been suspended due to the winds and we would have more information in an hour.  An hour later, we were informed the boat had been cancelled and we were stuck in the refugio for the night.  Most people started scrambling for places to sleep on the floor or on the couches of the public spaces, some others were able to find tents and camp (though camping in that wind would likely have been worse than the floor).

We were extremely lucky.  Earlier that day, we had run into some friends from Antarctica who were hiking the W in the opposite direction, and they had a double room at the refugio for the night.  After learning of our predicament, they generously offered to let us crash in their room, and we gratefully accepted that offer.  Although it was a bit crowded (poor Rose slept on the outside of the upper bunk), it was certainly far more comfortable than a floor, a couch, or a tent.  The boat arrived on time the following morning and we were able to make it back to Puerto Natales by around 4:00 p.m. the next morning -- by which time our flight had already left Punta Arenas, around 2.5 hours away.  After some lengthy phone conversations, we each managed to change our flight to one that left around midnight.  So although dealing with the glitches in our transportation schedule was irritating, it didn't wind up being overly burdensome, either financially or temporally.

Takeaways: Everything was awesome except the food and the logistical issues with our departure.  Many, many thanks to our friends for giving us a place to stay for the extra night.

A few additional comments:

(1) We refilled our water bottles directly from glacier runoff.  Glacier water is delicious.

(2) The cloud formations in Patagonia are out of this world.  Also the wind.  The wind is ridiculous.

(3) Before we arrived in the park, we had to watch a video about respecting the park's rules (no fire, don't litter, etc.).  The video included some shots of miniature skunks.  While we were staying in our private cabin, I had a pretty terrible nightmare that ended with those miniature skunks clawing and biting at me.  Even after I awoke in terror, I could still see them in bed.  In that fuzzy, irrational, half-asleep state, I screamed to Rose: "THERE ARE ****ING SKUNKS IN HERE!"  Rose, herself also not fully awake, didn't think to question the veracity of my statement but instead asked practical questions, such as: "What?" "Where?" and "Did they spray you?"  Luckily, after she complied with my hysterical requests to turn the lights on, the skunks were nowhere to be seen.

Antarctica

Visiting Antarctica was a magical experience, and one that I'm not going to attempt to break down into a catalog of the places we visited, what we saw, and what we did.  Even the best pictures (and several amazing photographers on the trip took several amazing pictures) can't do justice to the feeling of actually being there -- and if a picture is worth a thousand words, well... the math doesn't add up to a blog post that anyone has time to read.  (Or maybe that's a cop out and I'm just too lazy to write such a detailed description.)

Antarctica is so staggeringly beautiful that it's odd when you realize there's basically only one color: blue -- the blue of the sky, the blue of the ocean, the various blues of the ice.  Everything else is essentially black and white -- the white of the snow, the black of the rock, the black and white of the penguins.  (I gather that by the end of the Antarctic tourist season in February/March, there's also a fair bit of pink -- penguin guano.  But although there were hints of it in some of the colonies, we visited early enough that most of the penguins and most of the landscape looked pristine.  Rose also points out that there were occasional splashes of orange: gentooo penguin beaks, lichen.  Fair point.  But they're rare and small compared to the black, white, and blue.)  Monochromatic or not, it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

But beyond its beauty, there is a feeling of vastness to the continent that isn't communicated in photographs and is hard to describe.  It's also strikingly obvious that we don't belong there -- even at its northernmost edge, we had to painstakingly don several layers to be remotely comfortable.  Meanwhile, the penguins and seals looked on bemused, relaxing in their natural habitat -- the penguins even flopped on their bellies in the snow because they were too warm.  The most similar experience I've had is of going scuba diving with a wetsuit, buoyancy control device, tank, regulator, extra weight, etc., and experiencing an entirely new environment for which people are obviously ill adapted.

Speaking of penguins, they're adorable -- and easy to anthropomorphize as they awkwardly waddle around on two legs.  

But as awkward as they are on land, they're graceful and beautiful in the water, especially when they porpoise.  It's currently the penguins' mating season, so we witnessed ecstatic displays, courting, and, uh, the step that comes after courting.  (Apparently the penguins weren't the only ones feeling love in the air: our trip saw one marriage and two engagements.)

The humans on the trip were pretty fantastic too.  The stafff was absolutely amazing, knowledgeable and passionate about their respective subject areas (I went to almost all of the lectures they gave during our days at sea over the Drake Passage), as well as generally fun, interesting, and nice people.  Our fellow passengers (approximately 63 in total) also made up a really good group, with a wide variety in ages, locations, professions, and experiences.  I grew so fond of some of them, and accustomed to seeing them around the boat every day, that poor Rose had to listen to me mope about missing folks from the ship for several days after we'd returned.  (And Rose's company is pretty excellent in its own right, so that's saying something.)

Our two Drake Passage crossings were not my favorite parts of the trip.  The crossing was relatively benign on our trip down, although both Rose and I suffered a bit of mild motion sickness.  On our way back up, in contrast, we experienced a Force 10 gale that, among other things, decimated the dining area, ripped the coffee maker off the wall in the lounge, and tossed all of the items on our desk to the floor of our cabin where they promptly shattered into a million pieces.  Despite the rough seas, we made it through without much in the way of motion sickness or medication, probably because we'd adjusted to the boat by then.

In Antarctica itself, we were lucky to experience a wide range of weather conditions.  One morning was so stormy that our excursion actually had to be called off (which made for a fun ride back to the ship, as we'd already headed out in the zodiacs).  That afternoon, it had abated sufficiently for us to make a shore landing, but the wind and the snow was still so intense that you couldn't see more than a couple feet in any direction.  We also had our fair share of gorgeous sunny days, when the snow and water sparkled and everything was silent, still, and serene.  What's astonishing is how quickly the transitions happened; I've never seen such extreme shifts in weather occur so quickly.

Finally, the activities on Antarctica were phenomenal.  I went "swimming" at Deception Island (Rose declined); the water was numbingly cold so you only felt the pain after your blood began circulating again.  (Swimming is an overstatement: I ran into the water and then ran out.)  We went camping on the ice one night, which involved digging what felt like graves in which to put our mats, bivvy sacks, and sleeping bags.  (The ditches are actually designed for the wind to pass over you instead of into you.)  Although we stayed plenty warm, we were both a little claustrophobic because the top of the sack kept falling into our mouths while we breathed.  I didn't get a ton of sleep but I didn't have to use the bucket toilet (dubbed "Mrs. Yum Yum"), so overall I consider camping a success.  We also took several beautiful walks, most in our boots and one in snowshoes.

But for me kayaking was far and away the standout activity.  We were up close and personal for an iceberg calving and for orcas cresting (probably about 10 feet away).  In both instances, I was too stunned and overwhelmed by the moment to think about taking a picture, so you'll have to take my word for it.  We kayaked through brash ice fields and in coves filled with ice bergs.  On some days, the sea was so choppy that waves crashed over the front of our kayak and splashed Rose (she sat in the front), and the wind was blowing so hard that we were essentially in a kayak treadmill: paddling our utmost but getting nowhere.  We also had one insanely perfect day, where the water was like glass, reflecting without distortion everything above it, and you only had to paddle once every five minutes to move at a reasonable clip.  The icebergs we saw that day had been gorgeously shaped over time, such that it felt like visiting a natural sculpture garden in pristine, perfectly reflective water.  The experience was so amazing that I couldn't even feel that bad when, after taking one last picture, my camera slipped out of my fingers, fell into the water, and promptly sank to the bottom of the ocean.

Oops.  RIP Camera #2.  I never loved you as much as Camera #1, even though you were exactly the same model, but I was still sorry to see you drown.

In sum, if you ever have a chance to visit Antarctica, don't think about how much it costs (a lot) or whether you'll get seasick on the Drake Passage (you will), or any other excuses.

Just go.

PS: GO HAWKS!

Ushuaia

I successfully met up with Rose at our hotel in Ushuaia (apologies about the picture -- it was taken from inside, so there were reflection artifacts).  The plan for today is to relax, wander around, maybe go to the spa and then, this afternoon, boardd the boat to Antarctica (!!!).  Although there is some Internet over satellite, it is both expensive and limited, so I'll be essentially offline for the next two weeks or so.

El Calafate

Just as El Chaltén is a super cute small village, El Calafate is a pretty cute mid-sized town.  Our bus arrived on Wednesday in the late evening and, after checking into the hotel, we wandered around the main strip for a bit before turning in.  Highlight: the Borges & Alvarez Libro Bar (see picture on left below).  The next morning, Brad flew back to Buenos Aires while I took the Big Ice tour of the Petito Moreno glacier (see above).

I have to be honest: there were a lot of things I didn't like about the tour.  For one thing, it was a huge group of people -- at least 80, if not 100.  For another, it had all the problems associated with big tours: it rather felt like we were being shuffled along an assembly line as we visited the balconies to view the glacier and hiked up to the camp where we would be fitted with crampons and harnesses (the harnesses were purely for emergencies, we weren't doing any climbing).  That fitting process rather reminded me of going through airport security, which takes all the romance out of the experience.

All that being said, walking on the glacier itself is pure magic.  I'd always thought of glaciers as relatively unchanging huge blocks of ice.  

They are huge blocks of ice, but they're anything but static -- especially in Argentina, where the glaciers move significantly faster than those in Europe or in Antarctica.  (This is partially because there is actually a layer of water separating the glacier from the bedrock below.)  For example, we visited a beautiful ice cave (see right) that the guides were pretty confident would cave in within the next couple of months.  Moreover, the structures and formations in the glacier itself are incredible (and unbelievably beautifully blue).  I'd have willingly put up with three times the amount of Disneyland BS to walk over these crevasses and marvel at the foreign beauty of the landscape.

I probably should have taken more pictures, but it was hard enough to keep up with the group as it was without pulling out my camera to take a picture every couple of seconds.  Also, even though every vista was a uniquely breathtaking experience while walking on the ice, it probably becomes pretty repetitive and boring when clicking though on a screen.  I do really wish I had caught the big piece of ice that came off while we were admiring the glacier from one of the balconies; instead, all I managed to snap was the aftermath (see below).

(Aside: in an awesome random coincidence, one of the people on the tour was a kid from Issaquah who'd just graduated from college.  We recognized each other as fellow Seattleites because we were both wearing the same Mariners hat -- as he pointed out, you don't see them every day in Argentina.  Interestingly, most Americans I've met while traveling this time around have been from the West Coast or from Colorado.)

In sum, Petito Moreno is an absolutely gorgeous glacier and even though I found most of the tour's surrounding hooplah extremely annoying, it was still a fantastic experience.  What's more, my legs and knees held up the whole time despite the extensive workout they received in El Chaltén.  I'm also pleased to announce that I experienced no major injuries or other disasters, although I did have a slight crampon malfunction.  Basically, the crampon didn't fit well over my right hiking boot so, at times, my boot would be stuck in it at an odd angle.  Usually I could jam my shoe back in it and get it on track, but at one point the entire front section of my foot came out, which alerted the guides to the problem.  After a couple unsuccessful attempts at retying the crampon, one of the guides set me up with a new crampon, which promptly broke only a few steps away.  Combining pieces from my first crampon and the second crampon, I finally had a properly fitted piece of equipment to take me the last 10 minutes back to land.

After three days of solid activity, I figured I had earned a rest.  Accordingly, on Friday, I woke up late, ate some breakfast, packed my stuff, checked out of my hotel, ran a couple errands, and then took a shuttle to the airport to catch my flight to Ushuaia.