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.

El Chaltén

Subtitled: Brad & Erin's Excellent Adventure

Brad had a few days free before his conference, so he decided to come along on my visit to El Chaltén, Argentina's (self-proclaimed?) trekking capital.  He had a bit of ticket drama at the airport, but otherwise our flight from Buenos Aires to El Calafate and bus from El Calafate airport to El Chaltén went quite smoothly.  (Well, the transitions went smoothly.  The actual flight was pretty turbulent.)

The context in which you arrive in El Chaltén adds to how amazing it is.  First, you land at the El Calafate airport, which is basically in the middle of nowhere.  Then, you ride the bus through a whole lot more nowhere (plains/steppes, lakes, mountains in the distance, and one small hotel where all the buses stop for a toilet break).  At last, out of nowhere, you reach the end of the (paved) road and arrive in El Chaltén, a super cute village nestled in the mountains that is full of similarly cute hotels, restaurants, and breweries.  It's the perfect size for a village: big enough to explore, but small enough that it can be fully explored on foot in a few hours -- which is how we spent our first afternoon/evening.  Plus its small size does not detract from quality: there is excellent food, wine, and beer to be had at many of the local establishments.  (Aside: It does seem to be perpetually under construction; even some longstanding restaurants were undergoing renovations during our visit.)

As the front desk attendant at the hotel explained, there are two classic El Chaltén hikes: Laguna de los Tres (to see Cerro Fitz Roy) and Laguna Torre (to see Cerro Torre).  She further explained that there are two options for the longer and more popular of the two, Laguna de los Tres: (1) hiking directly from town, the most common route; or (2) paying 100 pesos per person (~$7 USD at the Buenos Aires blue market rate or ~$12 USD at the official rate) for a transfer to the head of a trail that passes the Pietras Blancas glacier on the way to the lake, from which you descend back into town.  The second option, she explained, both creates a loop trail (more interesting than a there-and-back) and is a somewhat easier trail to the top.

We were intrigued by the glacier, but not particularly enamored about paying for a transfer.  By cross referencing a cartoonish tourist trail map explicitly labeled not to scale (see above/right) with google maps (without much detail), we found what we believed to be the trailhead and calculated that it was only about three miles away.  A transfer seemed ridiculous and unnecessary; we weren't some rich, lazy tourists ripe to be (literally) taken for a ride.  We had come here to walk, and walk we would.  Accordingly, around 7:30 the next morning, we set off northbound along the dirt road.

Ten miles and three and a half hours later, we reached the trailhead.  Still, we were in good spirits; it was a beautiful (if windy) day, we'd enjoyed parts of the walk even if it was a bit tedious in total, and although we might have a slight energy deficit, we were at least taking the easier trail.  Plus, most people are just beginning at the trailhead, whereas for us, the trailhead itself was cause for jubilation and celebration (celebration selfie on left).

Our celebration was premature.  We had found the trailhead, yes, but we still had to find the trail.  At the outset, we had two options.  After briefly exploring both, we opted for the one that bent to the left, basing our decision primarily on the cartoon map and labels with arrows spray painted onto rocks.  But how to follow that trail was not particularly clear; at times, the landscape opened up into a wide, sandy river basin that we could follow, but at other times, following it led us into thorny brush and thick trees or to the wrong side of a creek with no obvious way to cross.  We navigated our way through in fits and starts by using google maps' topographical layer to determine which direction we needed to go (south along the Rio Blanco) and my (old-fashioned) compass to make sure we were going in that direction.

A few miles in, the terrain grew rockier, often requiring scrambling instead of walking.  (We did occasionally run into pieces of trail, giving us false hope that we'd found the proper way until the trail faded into a pile of rocks.)  We also started seeing cairns, suggesting that we had found a trail, or at least that other humans had passed this way at some point.  Accoordingly, we adjusted our navigation method, alternating between following cairns and scrambling around looking for them.  Needless to say, our path was anything but direct.  Our ability to move in a straight line was further inhibited by a few fences barring our way; although we could have easily passed over or under them, we figured that fences would have an open section for a trail.  In search of a trail, we followed the fences until we found sections that had been removed (though it wasn't clear whether they had been removed by the fences' owner or by other trespassers on his/her property).

Eventually, we reached the spectacular Pietras Blancas glacier.  Not only is it incredibly beautiful in its own right, it also was marked on our cartoon trail map, so -- for pretty much the first time that day -- we knew exactly where we were.  At this point, though, the "trail" was a bunch of really huge rocks and I'd almost reached my limit.  I was beginning to fear that I would break myself before we found a proper trail.  I'll be the first to admit that my balance is not great, but my reflexes are usually pretty good, having been honed through decades of (almost) falling.  Seventeen miles in, however, my reflexes weren't working quite so well.  I therefore didn't go all the way into the glacier the way Brad did (a decision I now regret).  But he took an awesome photosphere of the place.

Perhaps sensing that I couldn't take much more, the trail became markedly easier after the glacier.  It still was blocked in places by fallen rocks, but we followed it with relative ease all the way to the intersection with the trail from town.  At that intersection were the first people and the first trail sign we'd seen all day.  (I was very happy about the sign.)  Only then did we stop to eat lunch (though we'd snacked along the way).

A dinky little ham and cheese sandwich never tasted so good.

After our backcountry experience, the climb to the top was somewhat anticlimatic.  The trail was immaculately groomed; although there was a little gravel near the top, it felt like a highway compared to earlier.  But it was still very rewarding to reach the lake and see Fitz Roy, an incredibly blue lagoon, and our second glacier of the day.  Rewarding but short: the ridiculously strong winds and our desire to return by a reasonable time prompted us to head back to town with alacrity.  The descent seemed interminable; we managed to be three miles away for what felt like five miles.

We returned to town victorious a mere twelve hours after we'd departed, our bodies and spirits a bit bruised and battered, but not broken.  Based on two separate tracking devices (both Brad's, my phone battery died during the first few hours), our best guess is that our total distance was at least 26 miles.  After reviving our energy through the application of pizza and delicious homebrewed beer (see right), we also learned the following pieces of information: (1) Brad had a more detailed trail map in his backpack the whole time, but had forgotten about it; (2) the "easy" trail we were supposed to take was on the opposite side of the river (allowing a view of the glacier, but probably precluding a visit); (3) our hike had begun outside the boundaries of the national park (doubtless in private property, explaining the fences), so we were supposed to register; (4) there was no trail at the beginning of our hike -- even the unofficial trail only began a few miles in where we started seeing cairns; and (5) before doing even the final "easy" portion between the glacier and the trail from town, we were supposed to ask for directions.

Even knowing all that, I wouldn't trade our crazy adventure for any number of easy treks (although I would've coughed up the 100 pesos had I known how far away the trailhead was).  Of all the people that visit Laguna de los Tres every year, almost none (if any) of them went the way we did.  We definitely took the road less traveled and I hear that makes all the difference.

(Hike #1 postscript: For any of you who might be questioning my judgment, I'd like to point out that this is not a plan I would have executed had I been traveling solo.  For those of you who accuse me of perpetually turning short walks into arduous ordeals, I'd like to point out that responsibility for the transformation of this excursion does not rest solely on my shoulders. Two brains were required to come up with this particular brilliant plan.)

Due to the unexpected length of our first hike, we scrapped our prior plans for an early start the next day and spent a while in the morning searching for scrambled eggs.  After accomplishing that first lofty goal, we headed for the other El Chaltén classic trail, Laguna Torre, to do as a 10 or 11-mile "cool down" hike.  Unfortunately, it was too cloudy to see Cerro Torre; fortunately, the lake itself is still really cool (literally -- check out those blocks of ice!).  Despite serving me admirably for the uphill portion, my legs, knees, and ankles began to stiffen up during the downhill portion.  By the end of the hike, I was walking like an old woman, hobbling stiffly down the stairs on our return into town.  Although waffles at La Wafleria went a long way toward a cure, I was quite ready to sit for a few hours on the bus back to El Calafate.

In sum, amazing place, amazing experience.  Many thanks to Brad for keeping me company.

(Amusing postscript: The huemul, a kind of deer, is an endangered species; sightings are quite rare and are supposed to be reported to the rangers.  We didn't see any, just some horses, a lamb, and one ugly bull.  Still, they supposedly live in the area around the road we walked on to the trailhead.  We know this because there were tons of signs along that road explaining that huemules may be present.  Different signs depicted the huemules in different ways... including as shown in the following photograph.)

Buenos Aires

Having earlier explained that I don't generally love cities, I now note that there are exceptions.  For example, I loved Buenos Aires.  What's more, I loved it even though there were things I'd planned on doing that I didn't do, including a street art tour (see below) and watching tango (first night: too tired, second night: wanted to eat steak in my neighborhood, third night: WAY too rainy).  Rather than approach the city with my ordinary "must do and see everything" mode, I mostly wandered around various neighborhoods and hung out, drank wine, and ate food with Brad, Rebecca, Nick, and Placida.  (Brad was coincidentally in town for a conference + vacation extension, and the others decided to join him, at least for the vacation portion.)  And it was great.

Arriving from Seattle (through LA, through Lima, through Santiago) on Friday morning, I checked into my hotel in Villa Crespo and then met up with Brad et al at their airbnb apartment nearby in Palermo.  After an empanada lunch, we wandered around downtown and the waterfront all afternoon.  Although evening shenanigans were in the works, succumbed to post-flight fatigue and opted for an early night instead.

On Saturday, the rest of the group took a day trip to Le Tigre, so I undertook a solo exploration of the city.  Among other things, I visited El Ateneo (see left), an old theater that now serves as an amazing bookstore, the Recoleta Cemetary (where Evita is buried), and the Evita Museum.  The Evita Museum has a wonderful restaurant, so I stopped there for lunch.  Unfortunately, it took some time for me to obtain and pay the lunch bill, so I left without much time to get to the meeting point for my street art tour, scheduled (I believed) to begin at 2:35.

When I arrived at the meeting point around 2:36, however, I wasinformed that the tour had already left.  I checked the website and it turns out that since I booked the tour a couple months ago, the start time had changed from 2:35 (the time listed in my confirmation email) to 2:20.  Disappointed, I wandered around the area for a while on my own street art tour, but I'm sure it was far inferior.  I consoled myself later that evening with steak at a restaurant near my hotel and drinks at a great local bar (Brad graciously kept me company).

I did manage to follow through on one organized activity: a city bike tour that covered most of the important tourist areas and gave a ton of fascinating information about the history and culture of Buenos Aires in particular and Argentina in general.  (For example, did you know that Argentina has the highest number of psychologists per capita of any country in the world?  The tour guides offered this as an explanation for why there was so much dog poop on the streets: apparently, these psychologists suggest building toward healthy human relationships by first nurturing a plant and then a dog.  I don't see why owners of therapy dogs are less capable of scooping than any other owners, but there you go.)

The only downside to the tour was the weather.  Believing that I had a street art tour to go to on Saturday (I'm still sad about missing it, can you tell?), I booked my bike tour for Sunday.  When we began the tour by visiting the colorful neighborhood of La Boca (see left), it was merely drizzling, but by the time we reached Recoleta in the afternoon, it was practically a torrential downpour.  Buenos Aires has pretty amazing bike lanes, usually separated by a barrier from car traffic, but they're only so useful when they're flooded.  What's more, it wasn't only rainy but also windy -- and a solid headwind can make even a really easy, flat street feel like a sizable hill.

Despite the weather and the presence of other vehicles, my bicycling performance was far superior in Buenos Aires than in Cambodia.  Maybe I'm improving, or maybe (more probably) it's easier to bicycle on paved roads without a bruised tailbone than on bumpy dirt roads with one.  Indeed, I was doing well enough that two-thirds of the way through the tour, I had the audacity to think that maybe, just maybe, this time I could write a blog post about a bicycle tour and report that I sailed through the entirety with flying colors and without embarrassing incidents.

I must have jinxed myself.

While cycling past Recoleta plazas dedicated to various countries, I noticed that the mobility of my left foot was starting to be restricted and realized that my shoelace must have gotten caught.  I slowed to a stop, believing that I still had enough slack to step down.  But I had no slack, leading to what must have been a hilarious slow-motion fall: I stopped the bike, and then just tilted over.  (Indeed, I received compliments on how "well" I fell.  I didn't explain my secret: practice, practice, practice.)  It turns out my shoelace had wrapped itself multiple times around the pedal and had to be laboriously unwound.  Oops.

But that's not all!  No more than 4 blocks away from the endpoint of the tour, we stopped at a red light and, when the light changed, I started peddling... and nothing happened.  My chain had fallen off.  

Still, the only thing I injured was my pride (and I somehow managed a massive bruise on my knee, unrelated to the fall).  No harm, no foul: the tour was well worth it, even in the rain.

In sum: I wanted far more than the three days I had in this city.  It's an easy addition to my list of places I'd like to revisit.