Change of (work) Address

After years of employment at the MathWorks, I will be leaving for a small start-up company. They do 3-D medical imaging and have a pretty neat looking product. I will still be in the Boston area, so none of my personal contact details will change. But it's time to stop using my MathWorks postal and e-mail addresses.

Chile Day 19 - Well, That Sucked

Flight from miami to boston this morning. I was back on American soil for all of 10 minutes before I heard the word "insurgent" from some CNN talkinghead. You know you're home when surrounded by urgent warnings of threats from forces unknown.

I've said on a few occasions that this was the worst vacation I have ever taken. That may be an exaggeration. I remember one particularly painful trip out west to a an (ex) in-law's white-trash shotgun wedding. Curiously, it also featured a frustrated rafting trip. But that was only a long weekend, whereas this vacation dished out its parade of damp, frustrated inaction for over two weeks. I really spent almost every moment of this trip getting rained on, waiting for the rain to stop, in transit, or waiting for transit. The true sign that this vacation was a loser is that I actually thought at many times that I would have been better off on a cattle-herd package tour. At least an organized outfitter could make my connections work without multiple 24 hour layovers in nowheresville.

I figure that I just had a pretty good 4 day vacation. It's not like I had my passport stolen, lost luggage, got sick, or ended up in jail. This wasn't hell, not even purgatory. Just limbo. The reason I'm so unhappy is that it took over 2 weeks to get those 4 days of vacation. Plus, I missed three prime skiing weekends to make it happen. As I was leaving, I found a tourist brochure for the Aisen region which featured on its cover a happy cloud raining on a bus. This is to be the emblem of my trip, and should have been a big tip-off from the beginning.

Coming here, I had to decide between Aisen and Patagonia proper. Re-reading my guide, it looks like Patagonia has better hiking and better transportation. Not sure about weather. I chose Aisen to raft the Fu. Which was cool, but not worth the trouble. I remember a moment three weeks ago sitting before a LAN Chile website hovering my mouse over Puerto Natales, then Puerto Montt, then back again. If only Fate had directed my cursor 20 pixels south I would have had a very different trip.

Lest I be accused of excessive negativity, here are the things I like about Chile:

* Views. When the mountains aren't hidden by clouds and fog, the scenery here is exactly the kind of thing I want. Simply amazing!

* Perros. Most seem to view the ample supply of free-range dogs as some sort of nuisance, but I like 'em. It's such a pleasure to have a dog waiting to be greeted at every doorstep. I only petted the ones with collars, but praised any of them that knew how to sit.

* Smell. Most people heat and cook with indestructible century-old german-made cast-iron wood-fired stoves. Walking around town in the morning, you can see the smoke plumes rising in the still air and smell cheery smoldering hardwood everywhere. On Sunday mornings, there are always flower vendors clustering around churches and cemeteries, sweet scent wafting. Chile's towns lack the acrid stench of 2-cycle engine hydrocarbons so common to third world economies, as tuk-tuks and mopeds are either outlawed or simply not used.

* Booze. Unlike Norway, good cheap wine is always readily available here. I had to cut back once I decided that a half bottle of vino tinto for both lunch AND dinner was probably well beyond recommended FDA guidelines (and likely to give me headaches). Still, except for when I was extremely cash-strapped, I had at least a glass of wine every day. It's a good way to live.

For all the misery, I'm bummed that it's all over. I felt like things were finally improving toward the end and would have liked to stay, now that I've figured this place out. Next time, if there is one.

I'll close with gratitude for everyone who has been reading this and posting/mailing along the way. Travelling solo is a good way to talk with new people, but it's just as important to have some connection with home and the people there. Thanks, all!

Chile Day 18 - Das Kapitol

Santiago is sort of closed on Monday. After the party-hard weekend, most museums, attractions, churches, stores, and restaurants take a holiday. I had to get creative.

Because I misread Let's Go, I thought that a certain church/memorial was "high above treeline". A long bus ride to a dusty, flat suburb revealed a large monument on the nearby mountain. But certainly no alpine conditions at the memorial itself, a hulking modernist monstrosity with good stained glass work and a closed museum. Supposedly, this is the place where Bernardo O'Higgins won the decisive victory over spanish forces to establish independence. Every town in Chile seems to have an O'Higgins street, usually the most prominent throughfare. At first it seemed strange to have streets with an irish name here, but it made more sense once I learned the history. It's kind of like how every town in the US has a Washington St.

The central train station has dragon-winged llamas guarding the roof. That's so cool.

Visited the fish market for lunch and consumed the biggest bucket of oysters on the half shell I have ever seen. The hardest part was overcoming the language barrier to order, apparently a 4-man job. Dessert at the nearby fruit market made probably the healthiest meal I've eaten since I arrived.

Parque Metropolitan is on a much bigger hill than Cerro Santa Lucia and has better views. But it's nowhere near as interesting with its straightforward observation platform and well-marked system of paths. I enjoyed the breeze there, my only real break from the 30 degree (~90 F!) heat in town.

Other than that, I did a lot of wandering around and shopping for souvenirs. The city is littered with little markets selling a combination of everyday necessities (the detergent store!, the pastic-sheeting store!) and local handicrafts. My book suggests bargaining hard and reducing prices by at least half. It's wrong, or I'm the world's worst haggler. The best I got was token reductions, if any at all. Still, I had ATMed too much money (an over-reaction to my earlier poverty) so I had plenty of cash to blow on llama-themed products. You are nothing in the Chilean tourist trinket market if you haven't festooned your sweaters/socks/shirts/underwear with as many vaguely llama-shaped blobs as possible.

Easy bus to the airport and a crowded flight to Miami. My Argentinian tea-spoon didn't even draw a raised eyebrow from the DEA inspectors. Good riddance, Chile.

Chile Day 17 - Return to Civilization

Flew from Chaiten->Puerto Montt->Santiago today. The first leg was aboard a tiny 8-seat turboprop. As the first aboard I sat in the co-pilot's seat with full access to instrumentation, controls, and the air freshener. This gave me great views, plus the ability to save the plane in the event of an emergency. (Don't think I wasn't prepared to do so.)

Santiago is uncomfortably hot and humid, almost a welcome change. I wandered around in search of a hotel, which turns out to be difficult in high tourist season. Eventually, I was granted a converted broom closet with no window. But it has a lock on the door, breakfast, and free internet so there are no complaints. It's on a winding cobblestone street with trees and colonial architecture.

Enjoying my return to civilization, I wandered the city's parks, plazas, and neighborhoods. The clear winner was Cerro Santa Lucia, built on top of what was until 1871 a 200m tall ugly rockpile in the center of the city. Now it's a 3-dimensional maze with fountains, turrets, plazas, and lookouts. Surprising little architectural details abound and it rewards some exploration. The top affords a nice view of the city, and I could just barely make out mountains through the pollution haze. I was strongly reminded of the gaudi-designed park in Barcelona.

The subway system in town is efficient, clean, and cheap. Many of the stations are decorated with huge oil paintings. And the trains have a wonderful innovation - windows that really open! Finally, oppressed commuters have a say in their climate.

I'm celebrating urbanness with chinese food for dinner. It's surprisingly good, more authentic than most American places. Though the waiter did look like I'm the first person in a long time to request chopsticks. They're well beyond the epiphany grace period for playing Christmas music, though.

Now that I'm in a big city with some actual nightlife, I feel like I should go out to a bar or club or something. After all I've been through, that's about the last thing in the world I want. What I really want is to see all the South Park I've missed. From a hot tub. While eating a salad.

Chile Day 16 - Smell of Fear

The Everest IMAX film says that you don't conquer big mountains - you sneak up on them, leave, and hope they don't kill you. The same advice applies to the big-water sections of the Fu when they're at the commercial flood stage limit.

Oh baby.

We started early in order to give Mike and Marcelo time to make their bus for Argentina, hitting water at about 7. The sun rested well below the ridgeline and mist floated up from the water. Even james the guide wore thermals. Shivering, we climbed into the raft and could hear the roar of the first rapid around the bend. James told us to dispense with some usual bits of rafting advice - there was to be No Defensive Swimming. Pointing your feet downriver and waiting for rescue would mean pick-up somewhere in the Pacific ocean. In case of disaster, we'd have to swim for the rescue catamaran, and hard. Chastended, we began.

And it never really stopped until the very end. Even under low-water conditions, the bridge-to-bridge section of the Fu is a sustained battle through big water. In flood, you're lucky to have time to breathe. We had 90 minutes of continuous class-V big water, with monster hydraulics, boat-eating standing waves, and whirlpools to the center of the earth. When I had time to look up, I saw slopes undercut and worn smooth by angry water. I can see why people fly from the other side of the world to run this river. It's simply incredible.

With our experienced crew (half pro river guides again), we were able to cut some hard lines through the water and hit them pretty well. We also had no swimmers, no capsizes, and no flying paddles. Almost a miracle.

With the early start, we were done at 8:30, just as the sun peeked over the mountains. In my only (and I mean only) stroke of transportation luck this entire vacation, the Chaiten express bus rolled over the take-out bridge just was I got myself packed and ready. I had expected to be hitching and was smiling at my good fortune. Maybe this vacation could be redeemed after all!

Not really. I arrived at the Chaiten airpot and waited several hours for the extremely overdue flight. When it arrived, I was informed that the plane was full and I'd have to wait for tomorrow. Worse, I had seen 3 nearly-empty flights from other operators take off for PMC while I waited. Ugh. I had hoped to at least make Puerto Montt tonight so I could do some souvenir shopping, if not all the way to Santiago. Instead, I'm stranded for yet another 24 hours in Chaiten.

Compared to last weekend, it's a transformed city. I think all the big outfitters cancelled their trips for last week and there was nobody here. Now the same restaurant where I watched Gilmore Girls alone with the owner's daughter is packed with Germans about to begin their package tours. Packs of feral Americans in baseball caps stalk the streets, calling each other "dude" from behind their $200 sunglasses. But there's still nothing to do here.

I think it's telling that the restaurant's menu lists pollo under pescado. If it's not mammal, it's fish.

To wrap up: 90 minutes of heaven today. Otherwise, yet more transportation limbo. And more ahead. The sad thing is that it's the best deal I've had for the entire trip.

Chile Day 15 - Smell of Neoprene

Today was the sort of day I have been wanting since I arrived two weeks ago. I woke to sunshine, survived a harrowing ride to the put-in point, and rafted some pleasant class III+ whitewater. It's not the best section of the Fu, but it's the part they're running. I'll take it.

With the exception of the other two guys from the states, most of the folks on the trip were more river guides from Canada down here to establish a bi-seasonal working schedule. The river itself was not all that special - we spent hours floating along near-flat water and performing difficult portages around two deadly rapids before we hit the Wild Mile. It's a very, very fast stretch of water which was swollen far beyond its usual limits. The rapids were more rolling than punishing and we finished the actual Mile in 9 minutes flat. Not the best rafting trip ever, but the scenery was astounding. Snow-capped mountains on all sides, steep cleaved valleys, imposing trees, and lazily drifting condors filled the entire day. The river itself is so violently aerated that the still sections after the rapids looked carbonated, like pouring the world's biggest glass of Sprite. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring my camera.

There is a river cool hierarchy which is built mostly on the amount of insulation you wear. Rafting clients (pond-scum on the totem pole) wear full wetsuits and booties. Raft guides are much cooler and usually go with a spray top, baggy bathing-suit bottoms, and tevas. My guide proved himself to be the toughest of them all with just a flannel shirt. Outdoorsy types like to say that "cotton kills", so dressing like a lumberjack shows that you are invincible. Or really stupid. Or both.

Chris the owner met us at the take-out and walked us up to his private mountain camp for a look-around. It's placed midway up a valley with views of three glaciated peaks, a sun bowl to the west, distant waterfalls, and a variety of wildflowers. He rigged it with clever hot water, solar panels, organic gardens, fruit trees, and even a shower in a hollowed-out tree trunk for the ultimate in off-grid living. It may be the closest thing I have ever seen to Paradise. (Still needs a good internet connection. And easy access to sushi.) Again, no camera.

I've always wondered what the career path for an olympian looks like after the gold have been won and the TV cameras leave in search of coke-sniffing supermodels. Chris (a medalist in whitewater kayaking) has carved out an awfully nice life for himself down here. He was the first to kayak the Fu and (i think) the first to set up a rafting company. He made this town what it is, and as far as I am concerned he deserves any shangri-la he can build here.

My stupid cultural misunderstanding of the day:

Canadian Expat River Guide (CERG): The raft got stuck aröund the eddy and we had to rappel down to get it öut. We totally got the shaft.
Chilean Local River Guide (CLRG): Ha ha. Shaft.
Karl: Watch your mouth!
---
CLRG (proper response): But I'm talkin' about shaft!
Karl (proper response): Well you can dig it.
---
CLRG (actual response): What? Are you talking to me or her?
Karl (actual) : I'm talkin' about shaft
CLRG: Que?
[the conversation stumbles on uncomfortably from here, as karl reflects on the fact that just because you know English doesn't mean you know blaxploitation heroes.]

There is a store in town called a "ferreteria". I imagine that it's like a cafeteria, but with live ferrets. I didn't investigate, lest I have a perfectly attractive notion exploded.

My hotel has furnished me with an NFL-themed comforter. (And I thought that football meant something else down here.) I don't know much about the makeup of the league, but it did list lots of teams I don't hear about anymore. Can anyone carbon-date my blanket based on the presence of the Falcons, Cardinals, Bengals, and Browns?

Chile Day 14 - Golly, It Rains More

It rained all last night and all day today. The same storm fell as snow at higher altitudes, so the mountains were covered in thin fairy dust for most of the morning. Predictably, all of the outfitters cancelled their rafting operations and spent the day playing spades. The real kick in the teeth is that exchile rafted the legendary bridge-to-bridge route yesterday, so if I had made my bus connection on Tuesday I could have seen some of the gnarliest class V whitewater in the world at its peak. Instead, I didn't even have someone to play cards with. My only accomplishment for the day was getting my elf rogue up to level 20 in the stupid palmpilot game which has been occupying more of my time than I'd prefer.

I spent most of the morning inside watching the rain. I did change hotels (yet more dangerously low ceilings) and met a couple from Colorado who are also down here for the non-existant rafting. They're both river guides and their local connections are just as bummed by the situation here as I am. (Perhaps moreso - it's their livelihood, after all.) The exchile guidehouse has a sticker in the window which says "Pray For Rain". I think we can stop praying now.

Eventually, I became so frustrated that I set out into the rain. The drenched snackcracklepopadendrons were mournfully silent. To paraphrase the immortal wisdom of Donald Rumsfeld, you hike with the weather you have, not the weather you wish you had. The cheezy tourist map of town showed a pleasant-looking path to a rocky outcropping at the confluence of three valleys. The photos of the area always show some happy backpacker on this rock surrounded by lakes, cliffs, and blue sky. After climbing a few miles through cow fields (and their attendant landmines) I reached the top and saw... nothing. With the rain and fog, I had about 20 feet of visibility. I think I saw a sheep, but I'm not sure. Despondent and wet, I climbed downward through the sluice of slippery mud and slipperier cow patties. No sooner had I reached the access road than the clouds lifted, the rain slowed, and the fog burned off. When the view of the valley opened up, I worked very hard to suppress an enraged scream. This country is really toying with me. I'm sure of it. I feel like Job and I now even know the location of a nice dung heap should I feel like cursing God.

To continue the the biblical allusions, I'd also like to take issue with Noah's rainbow and its promise of hope. Elementary school girls everywhere draw rainbows with happy ponies, ballerinas, and princesses. They're supposed to be pretty, joyful, and colorful. I have come to see the rainbow as a weather system's middle finger, as if to say "look, I can make you wet and give you sunburn AT THE SAME TIME." Eric Cartman was right - I hate rainbows.

It's a bizzare paradox, but I am now so poor that I found myself eating dinner at the best restaurant in town. I finally located someplace that takes credit cards. The prices are extravagant for chile, but rather like a usual night out back home. By either standard, it's better than another gristle empanada. At dinner I met Jozef and Kristine from Belgium, who let me pay for their dinner with my credit card and redirect the cash my way. Combine that with a dollar/peso currency exchange courtey of the colorodans, and I might have enough to get me back to an ATM in puerto montt. Thanks guys!

I'd also like to thank everyone who responded to my plea for reading material suggestions. I downloaded almost every idea and they're sitting on my memory card, just waiting to be read. I'd particularly like to thank Mary for suggesting some Ambrose Bierce. That man makes H.L. Mencken look like Mr. Rogers. All I have to do in order to feel better is to surround myself with people whose attitudes are even more foul than mine.

Chile Day 13 - Life in Reverse

It occurs to me that I could have avoided an awful lot of trouble by just renting a car. It's just not the first thing that I think of when I plan a trip. I woke up early and staked out a spot next to the pinochet memorial* at the entrance to town. After a few hours, just as the shade was waning from Not Much Left to Totally Gone, a friendly pickup truck rolled by and offered to drive me up the road. The cab was full of local water utility workers, so I found a nice seat in the bed. With no safety glass between me and the world, it was a little like riding a bike in reverse. I gladly took the dust and burning sun in exchange for fresh breeze and a panoramic view of the mountains and lakes. Also, being in the back didn't obligate me to make spanish-language small talk for two hours. True to Ford Prefect's advice, my towel was supremely useful in cushioning me from the corrugated bed liner. Now I just need a "don't panic" button.

* Pinochet, for all of his murder-squad despotism, is treated with a combination of reverance and hatred here. Yes, he was a Very Bad Man. On the other hand, he built the Carretera Austral and in one stroke linked this formerly isolated region with the rest of the world.

I arrived in town with plenty of time left in the day, so I puttered around on a few easy hikes. One took me to a nice viewing spot on the Rio Fu so I could see its legendary waters for myself. They really are a special shade of blue, somewhere between bombay sapphire gin and ty-d-bowl.

Also, I ran across a nifty dry-weather adapted plant I've never seen before. It seems to starve its seed-pods of water so they dry out in the sun. Eventually, they blacken and pop open to send a dozen seeds flying away. Walking by, you hear a constant crackling almost like being near a cheerful fire. When the wind blows through a stand of bushes, it sounds like a hundred castanet players getting down. I'm not sure of its technical name, so I'm calling it snapcracklepopadendron. The pods are even more satisfying to play with than bubble wrap.

I am back on the tourist path now. It's a little sad to be back in civilization, but I do have evidence that there are at least 5 english speakers in town! River rafting has brought a lot of money here. The streets are all being paved right now and the cars here are nicer. Town center is anchored by a pleasantly green park with benches, landscaping, and a few shade trees. With the mountains in the background, it's an attractive place to hang about.

One of the cheapskate pleasures of lightweight travel is using the toiletries left behind by previous generations of backpackers. Especially girls', with their floral/organic supposedly-active ingredients. I'm not sure what jojoba is, but right now I smell like a christmas tree. Douglas fir, I think.

Due to my dire money situation, dinner was a single (bad) empanada in the cafe, but I did get to watch a futbol game in the company of some animated locals.

Chile Day 12 - Transit and Lack Thereof

I'm trying to look at it as a few days of forced relaxation, not ones wasted in transit. I waited a long time in puhuyuapi and rode the bus north to the turnoff point for Futalefu. The driver made several unscheduled social stops, so I missed my connecting bus. I unsuccessfully tried to hitchhike the rest of the way, but no change of variables seemed to help. (Smile or no smile? Bandanna on head or waving? Telltale Zingermann's T-Shirt declaring my americanness to the world, or turned inside-out to hide it?) I hopefully watched each distant dust plume, hoping that it would turn onto my side road and pick me up. Most didn't even turn, so I at least faced little opportunity for rejection. Finally, I found a Residencial in town and resigned myself to a 22 hour layover in Villa Santa Lucia, population 30, activities none.

As usual, the weather for the bus ride was astounding. Not a single cloud in the sky all day long. (In contrast to yesterday's flat-light no-shadows conditions for the glacier hike.) The view down the valley at km175 left me wishing for a long clif bar break. This region really is beautiful and I can see why so many people are biking the road. If it were paved, I'd probably do it too.

My two most rapidly dwindling resources are cash and fiction. ATMs have been scarce since leaving Puerto Montt, and those which I have found were either broken or out of cash. I'm conserving by eating less, since it's my only real area of flexibility. The few english-speakers I have encountered are not carrying any books to trade and there's no hope of a take-a-book-leave-a-book anywhere. I feel really stupid carrying these finished books up and down mountains, but I stand even less chance of getting new stories without them. For lack of reading material, I have been working on my spanish from the phrasebook in the back of Let's Go. Now I'm trying to reverse-engineer conjugation/tense and coming to a new appreciation for the archeo-linguists who worked on the Rosetta Stone. (Which I doubt contains such useful phrases as "the cockroaches are biting me".)

I am eating dinner across the table from an entire cured hindleg of some medium-sized mammal. I'm so hungry that this does not deter anything. This plate of sliced cucumbers is the best thing to happen to me all day. Let's hope for something better tomorrow.

Chile Day 11 - Glaciers and the Israeli Army

It's a small world down here. Travellers meander southward, stopping for different amounts of time and moving at different rates. Today's hike at PN Queulat was a reunion of sorts, as I kept running into folks I had met since Puerto Montt. I walked a while with the group of French girls from yesterday's bus and talked some more, this time unencumbered by the bumpy roads. I told them about how the unreliability and complexity of things here has made my life difficult. They just laughed, since they just came from francophone Africa. Compared to Niger, this place is run like Switzerland. Point made. (One of them, asian and therefore a novelty, even had a Taureg nomad offer to buy her for 3 cows.)

The hike itself was short, but rewarding. It wandered through rainforest and ended at a lookout about 1km away from a "hanging" glacier. It hulks high above a sheer dropoff and a sea-foam-green lake, sending down waterfalls and periodic chunks of ice. I could hear it calving (dropping chunks) like thunder from the other end of the valley. The ice glowed with the same unnatural broken blue styrofoam look as the glacier in Norway. The walk upwards traversed a lively rainforest which reminded me of a book I read as a kid called "Anno's Animals". It showed dense forest scenes with animals hidden in the shapes of the trees. I kept looking for an elephant, but didn't see one.

Of course, getting there wasn't easy. It involved coordinating a german peace corps volunteer and a trio of girls recently retired from compulsory service in the israeli army. We found a random guy in town to give us a ride in his pickup truck, which he fancied a mean racing machine with a big muffler and even a Speed Racer decal. He cheated us by trying to get us to pay more (unsuccessful) and dropping us off a few km from our agreed-upon destination (successful, but I'm not sure what he really gained). But we got there in the end.

Getting back was harder, though that was not unexpected. With no way to arrange transport from the park, I started walking north with plans to hitch. Fortunately, the third vehicle to pass picked me up and took me all the way to Puyhuapi. Unfortunately, traffic is pretty sparse on the northbound carretera austral and you're lucky to get one car per hour. I had already covered half of the 22km to town by the time Gabriel and Rafael (really - my angels!) rolled up in their big orange public works truck.

I ran into lots of Israelis today. One of the army graduates said that they like running into Americans since their neighbors hate their existence and they perceive a casual anti-semitism from many Europeans. They find it comforting to be in the presence of someone even more hated around the world than themselves.

Remember what I said about omnipresent internet access? Not in Puyuhuapi. I'm cut off, at least until Futalefu.

I'm eating dinner in Cafe Rosenbach, not for the quality of the food (blah) but because the owner is a german-speaking descendant of the original settlers. I really just wanted to be in an environment where I could communicate with someone. It is becoming wearying to wade through a swamp of high-speed spanish just to order a salad.

There are certain factors which tell a lot about a country, but travel guides never seem to include. For the education of all, here's the relevant info: * Gushing hot showers: not at 5kilopesos per night, they're not. (Money conversion is really easy. 1000 pesos == $2. You just have to get over seeing "20 min, $300" at the internet cafe.) * Smoking: present and allowed in most places, though not common. I think it's because the country is poor and cigarettes are expensive. Things may be different in Santiago. * Tap water: not served in restaurants, but apparently safe. Which is good, because bottled water costs more than US-prices. * Street right-of-way: goes to the one with the most chutzpa. Ped x-ing signals widely ignored. Not a big deal since traffic density is usually low.

Good night, all.

Chile Day 10 - Fjord!

For all my complaining, I am trying to put things into perspective. The reason I'm so frustrated here is that I'm keenly aware of opportunity costs and how the vacation could be going better. (And it could be going a lot better.) But I have to ask myself if I would rather be doing this, or having another undifferentiated week back home. Can I remember what I was doing on any given week in last January? Probably not. Would I remember this week in a year if I had stayed at home? I doubt it. Would I have had the opportunity to see "Gilmore Girls" in spanish? Nope.

That said, this country hates me. This goes beyond mere chance, and must be active malice somewhere. I woke to a tasty blend of hail and sleet, so I cancelled my glacier hike and moved my bus trip south to today. No sooner had the glacier bus left than the skies cleared and the sun flew into the open. So I spent another beautiful day in transit.

The bus south required over 45 minutes of negotiation to fit all 22 passengers in. (Stated bus capacity: 18) I scored a primo solo seat with a carpeted headrest, though that turned out to be irrelevant. The carretera australis is the superhighway (in local terms) through this region, and it's a 1.5-lane gravel track with sharp turns and deep potholes. We were jostled enough that one unfortunate in the front row of seats had heavy gringo packs fall on him three times throughout the trip. Reading was impossible, so I listened to more This American Life and enjoyed the amazing scenery. We spent the entire trip in a valley between mountains, some snowy and others heavily forested. I would love to climb any of these hills, but this region is so underdeveloped that there are no trails at all. Pity, as some high mountain huts would make a multi-day ridge walk unforgettable. My new noise-isolating headphones were a godsend, protecting me from the 45-minute repeating loop of the bus soundtrack. (A bizzare combination of 80's sappy prom themes, Enya, latin-beat fiesta tunes, and post-grunge.) We passed many intrepid travellers on mountain bikes with rain-soaked packs who had obviously seen this road on a map and decided to traverse it from north to south. It's a beautiful road, but I think you'd need a Crotch of Steel to take 1000+ km of bumps and enjoy the experience.

My destination is puyuhuapi, which Let's Go claims has enough german heritage to justify a deutsch newspaper. I don't see it in anything but the Cafe Aleman and certainly don't hear it anywhere. (I had dreamed of lederhosen and at least dared to hope for some folks speaking a language I understand.) It's a nice little town at the end of a nice little fjord. It's not as nifty as any of Norway's, mostly because the mountains aren't all that steep. I like it anyway.

It seems like Bachelet has won the election. Chile's unique geography fits into one time zone, so nobody has to wait for the polls to close in California to report results. At 6pm exactly, the media called it and her supporters stormed the streets with flags waving and horns honking. Her victory isn't the upset I originally thought it would be, since someone told me that her center-left party has been ruling the government for the last 16 years.

I remember when France won the world cup and all the expats in Boston drove around town with french flags on their cars and honking horns in the night. This felt very similar, and I kind of wish that we Americans coud muster this level of excitement about the political process.

This is the first restaurant in days which hasn't had a TV in it and I feel much better. Maybe restauranteurs feel like a TV is a service to the customers, or maybe they just watch during slow times. As alternate entertainment, this restaurant has a cat and a puppy which looks just like a young Kaya might have. She's remarkably tolerant of the ill-behaved children of my fellow travellers (which keep falling on her).

I admire the resolve of any single mother who decides to take her trendily-named child (Dyllonn) to the edge of civilization, then threatens to lock him in the truck if he doesn't start behaving. Good for her that we're far beyond the reach of any child services agencies who might take exception. Because of the election, most of the restaurants in town are closed. Fortunately, I was able to find one that serves both salmon and vegetables. (I've been craving non-meat for a while. Special message to my 15-year-old self: yes, you can get tired of only flank steak after a while)

I'm here as a staging area for tomorrow's hike in PN Quelat. Tonight, I shall dream of hanging glaciers, fjords, and blue skies.

Chile Day 9 - Frustration Sets In

pumalin fiddlehead fern
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

The chilean guesthouse is pretty much just someone who rents out an extra room in their house. When I read about them, I imagined long nights about the dinner table with the family, perhaps a guitar and singing, as we came to understand each other's cultures over broken language. Heh. My guesthouse has no name, so I'll call it the "Lollipop Guild Inn" for the concussion-height ceilings. My host family seems nice enough, but they spend their evenings watching loud TV which makes Sabador Gigante look dignified. Maybe they understand my culture all too well.

Today I visited Parque Pumalin, a huge privately-owned park which is almost entirely undeveloped. For all the area, there are really only 3 or 4 small trails inside. I visited with Nicholas, an American expat who now makes his living as the sole english-speaker in town.

The day started like an old car, coughing and lurching forward before stalling and starting again. I spent 3 hours talking with Nicholas' non-english-speaking secretary in order to try and make arrangements for the next few days. Tomorrow's bus is running on a special schedule for the election, so I once again had to make just-in-time change of plans which I'm not really pleased with. Also, at one point the secretary just left the office for half an hour mid-transaction with no explanation. It took us over an hour to leave town as Nicholas drove around taking care of one errand or another. Typical.

Rather than the sweeping geology that I usually seek in a hike, these were of more botanical interest. I saw many trees (including 3000 year old Alerces), ferns, moss, and some little-shop-of-horrors giant cabbage (the stalk tastes like celery/apple). I did get a few nice waterfalls in the bargain, so there was something to satisfy me.

With so much money behind the park (the owner started North Face and Esprit) and so few trails, the facilities at the park are amazing. The trails are all decked out in paths, ladders, and bridges made from salvaged alerce wood. Some high-traffic footpaths are even cobblestone paved. I was amazed at the amount of trail construction that had to have gone into the place.

Did I mention that it's raining again? Without fail, another hiking day has been cloudy and wet after a perfectly beautiful transit/hangout day. This is becoming maddening. I have heard that it's 37degrees (celsius!) in Santiago. Much as I complain about the rain, at least it's escapable with a good jacket and some nerve. That kind of heat would turn me into an inactive puddle almost immediately.

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I returned to my hospitaje to find that all of my stuff (including my oh-so-cleverly-hidden passport) had been moved to a new room. I'm not sure if my hostess needed the old room or decided that I needed more ceiling height, but now Kevin and I are sharing a room on the first floor. We had a protracted mutually incomprehensible conversation about the new arrangements which seemed to repeat itself every 10 sentences or so. So I've lost privacy and gained a bigger room. Not what I'd prefer, but I don't have the language to protest or demand a discount. I feel powerless and pushed-around.

Here's my new theory on Language Barriers: Incomprehensibility is a function of language skill and conceptual complexity. My Mandarin is even worse than my Spanish, but I got by just fine in China because things generally worked as advertised and were predictable. Check comes, you pay it. That sort of thing. Here, nothing is ever easy. Every transaction is a complex multi-stage affair with lots of questions, disclaimers, problems, and issues which need to be negotiated. Here, it goes way beyond "do you accept credit cards" and "where is the bathroom". We're talking things like "pay us a 1/4 cash retainer today to reserve your flight and go to the office at 32 Pinto tomorrow at 11:30 to find out if the plane is even leaving as scheduled." The phrasebook in Let's Go is not up to the task of this country's communication needs.

Carne for dinner. Yum.

Chile Day 8 - Ahoy!

chaiten sunset
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Chile is 3 days away from a presidential election. One of the candidates is a woman, which again reminds me that our supposedly egalitarian country is well behind such forward-looking examples of gender equality as Pakistan and the Phillipines in finding chief executives with low testoserone counts. Her campaign posters say "Bachelet Presidente. Por Chile. Por les Gents" My command of spanish is weak, but something tells me that "Bachelorette President. For Chile, For the Gentlemen" is probably the wrong translation. I spoke with someone who says that politics is so male-dominated here that she doesn't have a chance. Still, her supporters are awfully active. They clogged the streets last night with balloons and flags flying from honking cars. Some industrious hackers also placed Bachelet flags atop every single lamppost in town overnight. This sort of advertising may be a nuisance, but at least it's more creative than disingenuous TV commercials.

Today is Yet More Travel. I'm on a high speed catamaran with 5 choppy hours to Chaiten. The mountains of the world's largest private park rise from the sun haze tothe east, beautiful but unphotographable. On the main deck, I can risk media sickness with hollywood Zorro. I'll take my chances on sea sickness upstairs.

This area of chile is almost exactly Bostonia Australis, coordinates 42s,71w. I had been hoping for some norway-style midnight sun, but I think I'd need to go much further south for that. Nonetheless, Chile has taken my repeated suggestion for boston and shifted itself to GMT-4, the Atlantic time zone. The sun sets around 10pm here and rises around 6, a far more humane alternative to Boston's messed-up schedule.

Today's destination is Chaiten, the jumping-off point for adventures in Aisen. Though it's the second-largest town in the province, it is little more than an intersection and a ferry port. I think I have now left the Beaten Path.

With plenty of daylight to kill, I visited the park in town and hiked to a spectacular waterfall which changes direction twice in its descent. Unfortunately, the trail took significantly less than the promised two hours. Instead, I spent over two solid and linguistically diverse hours with the tour operators in town. I may even have a plan for the next few days. Maybe. The mighty Fu is still overflowing, so creative methods must be applied.

I ate dinner with Kevin, a Kiwi I met on the ferry. He is halfway through a multi-month tour of the continent. While in Bolivia, he did the same thing as the only other person I know who has visited there: purchased a cheap mining license and threw live dynamite off a mountain. (Though he did it without the aid of a liter of tequila.) Do the guidebooks recommend this, or something? Dinner was "merluza", which is only caught and sold here. I didn't taste any difference between it and any other whitefish, but at least I had the Authentic Local Experience.

Kevin is atypical for the endurance solo traveller. He's older, has quit his job, has a blue-collar background, and not much education. I spend so much time with crunchy global hipsters that it's good to be reminded that pipefitters can buy Lonely Planet too. There is this (obnoxious?) uniformity among backpackers which I don't easily notice because I conform to it so completely.

The oversize TV in the restaurant treated me to my first Telenovella. These soap operas feature a combustible mix of sex, violence, betrayal, low production values, and intrusive musical cues. I was eager to see one since they define spanish-language entertainment much in the same way that Bollywood musicals encapsulate Indian cinema. I couldn't really tell what was going on, but some guy really liked this girl but she was angry at him for something he did with this other guy who was currently pointing a gun at some girl who worked in the same restaurant as another girl who may have in some way known the first guy. I think.

Other than that, there's not much to report. Weather nice, wish you were here.

Chile Day 7 - Taking It Easy

Sadly, being rained on or dealing with stupid transportation hassles has taken up most of my time so far. I was comiserating while waiting for the long-delayed bus in the rain with some well-travelled locals. Their take on the situation is that Argentina likes to think of itself as a well-organized place with its act fully together, but that it is completely wrong in thinking this. I figure it's because Argentina may be the most organized country in South America, but on a global scale that's not saying much.

I had planned on some more low-key hiking today, but decided to relax in town instead. I can feel myself getting sick and don't want to push my luck.

Before arrival, I had wondered what internet connectivity was going to be like down here. Turns out it's easier to find public internet here than back home. In America, most folks have their own computers and entrepeneurs have figured out that metered internet access is not a solid business model. Free wi-fi is easy, but I can't think of a single place off the top of my head where you can pay to use a computer in Boston. Here, many people don't even have a telephone at home, much less a computer. There are 2 or 3 internet shacks on every block, mostly being used by locals instead of gmail-addicted backpackers. The places are tiny, with a half dozen older computers and a couple of private booths for telephone calls. In the mornings, the crowd is mostly older folks doing actual work like balancing accounts and printing invoices. Then they are flooded with kids playing Warcraft and Counter-Strike, twitching and cursing in Spanish. w00t!

I'm trying to refrain from generalizing about Argentina from this one town. Barlioche is a premier ski resort, so it's a bit like forming cultural insights about America based on Vail or Aspen. I don't know if it's the ski-town vibe or standard Argentinian fare, but every local restaurant seems to have cheese fondue tucked in among the heaping festival of meat. Either way, it made for a fine lunch. (Mine is better, of course.)

Other than eating, I spent the day shopping and figuring out which bus to take to the airport. I left my fleece somewhere on the trail to Refugio Italia and had to replace it. I have also lost the stylus to my Pilot, but it's going to be impossible to find one and it's not mission critical. I also purchased an argentine tea-straw and a block of tea. I usually wait to buy souvenirs, but I doubt I can find either in Chile. The chilean customs inspector showed a lot of interest when I arrived. I'm not sure if he was accusing me of bringing plant matter into the country, thought it was drugs, or was expressing disapproval at my choice of brand. Either way, he let me keep it.

The flight back westward was amazing. With no clouds, I had a perfect view of the park I had hiked, including yesterday's Big Climb. It looked even worse from the air. At the time, I thought that the mountains I climbed were big (2000+m, bigger than Washington in the Whites), but with additional perspective I saw that they were mere babies compared to some of the hulking peaks closer tothe border. One particularly big one was a perfectly conical volcano exactly like Mt Fuji. I could see glacier scars from high in the air which must have been big enough to swallow a house. I doubt I have the skills and certainly don't have the gear to tackle these big boys.

Back in Puerto Montt, I arranged for a ferry ride to Chaiten tomorrow. (The plane is already full. Oh well.) I'm staying in the same hotel as before. The owner and her (?) parents recognized me immediately and I heard a lot of "porto" in their speech. Did they remember me as "the guy who couldn't figure out how to open the door to his room"? Or perhaps "the stupid gringo who we had to keep opening the front door for"?

Despite being high tourist season, I am the only customer in the restaurant tonight. Dinner is Symphony in the Key of Meat, with the the chilean women's futbol team losing to Peru on the TV.

Chile Day 6 - Human Challenges Prove more Difficult Than Geological Ones

refugio italia
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

I had thought that the hardest point of my day was going to be scaling the col to the next refugio. How wrong I was.

Things started innocently enough. Waiting for a break in the rain, I set about around Lago Negro for today's hike. I expected it to be challenging, with steep glacier fields, windy ridge walks, and poorly marked routes. Everyone at the refugio had given me as much route-finding assistance as they could and I mostly kept to the track. In the morning, the clouds rested low in the sky and glared at me in an ominous fashion, but did not send down any rain. With a brief detour for a misadventure through a heavily overgrown bush field, I eventually reached the bottom of the Big Climb. This is the one which had scared me all day. Everyone in the refugio had spoken of it in soft, frightened tones. And they had gone DOWN it, whereas I was ascending. Once I saw the Big Climb from a distance, I interpreted it as some sort of geological impossibility: a scree slope held far beyond its angle of repose by some malicious mountain trickster-god. Closer inspection revealed it to be a within the bounds of known physics, but barely so. With each step, I could feel the entire local region of shattered rock shifting under my weight, ready to race uncontrollably downwards. When I did dislodge a plate of rock (requring a quick jump sideways to not to join it), I could hear it recede into the depths of the valley long after it left myfield of view. As I climbed, the surface became increasingly steep and unstable. I began to wonder if I would even be able to climb the slope. And then it began to rain. Hard.

Later, on talking with a marine ecology fullbright scholar from SUNY stonybrook, I learned that this is an El Nino year. Hence the rain. Absent this knowledge, I became convinced that I am cursed.

I slogged through the remainder of the up-climb. Because of the rain, cloud cover obscured the undoubtedly amazing view from the peak. Then I began the climb downward, which was somewhat complicated by a complete lack of trail markers. After taking a very circuitous and highly individual route, I reached the next Refugio an hour ahead of book time. Not bad, considering. This refugio was the exact opposite of Italia - bustling with families and day-hikers with a freezer full of ice cream and a posted price for bathroom use. This refugio is one of the easiest to access from the road, so many families with small children and large school groups frequent it. It is a madhouse, utterly lacking in the weary camraderies of the remotie Italia. On some level, I'm glad I hiked the trail in reverse. Passing disneyland-on-nahuel-huapi, I hiked down to the road with 20 minutes to spare until the bus arrived.

But it didn't arrive. Ultimately, returning to Barilochoe was a grueling fiasco involving hours standing in the rain with no shelter, busses passing but not stopping, improperly followed routes, and even an unexpected trip to the municipal salvage yard. Ultimately, it took me over 5 hours to get from exit trailhed to city center, only 2 hours less than I spent hiking today.

Arriving in town far after the tourist information center closed, I was forced to wander from hotel to hotel in the rain, begging for a room. Because of the influx of high schoolers, cheap rooms are impossible to find. In the end, I had to purchase a rather expensive quad room at the gallingly-named Hotel Panorama (where I am in a basement room facing the street).

At least being back in the city means that I can have a big dinner. I'm eating mexican (real mexican, not tex-mex) and enjoying a margarita plus a plate deadly sauces. I even had half my guacamole (doused in incendiary salsa) and pretended to enjoy it.

Here are my conclusions about my trip so far: I really, really like this corner of the world. The terrain is amazing, the people welcoming, and the quisine inspiring. As long as I'm not being rained on or handling a transporation fiasco, it's been wonderful.

Chile Day 5 - It Barely Rains at All

Argentinians drink tea (or "boldo menta cruz de malta") by dumping copious green herbs into a cup, then drinking the tea through a filtering straw. There are many confusing, rigid social rituals surrounding this practice which carry significant superstitious penalties for breaking. It's tasty stuff and I like the convenience of chucking the tea ball. One of the argentinian guys I ate dinner with last night told me about camping in the US and leaving his paraphanelia near his site. When he returned from a short hike, he was visited by a dozen state police who were convinced that this was some novel new drug delivery system. He said that he finally convinced them that it was benign by showing them the nutrition info on the pouch, on the theory that not too many illegal drugs document their Vitamin B levels. Later, I spent most of the night hanging with the inevitable German crowd. My ability to add the correct adjective suffix declines significantly after a multi-hour hypothermia hike, I think.

This morning, I saw something strange and unexpected: an unusual bright light in the sky. Some say it is called the "sun", whatever that is. Happily, I broke out the sunblock and reconfigured my bandanna from anti-hail face shield to skull protection.

IMG_0103.JPG
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Today's hike was pretty easy in addition to being meterologically pleasant. It was a 700m downclimb over about 10km. Mostly, I followed a river down the valley between two big mountains. Back below treeline I found the coolest shelter site ever, with a cabin and chapel built directly into a boulder. Further along, I walked through a ghostly forest still in the first stages of recovery from a severe fire. Thousands of bony branches rattled in the wind, ghostly bleached fingers aching for a living past. Also, in contrast to yesterday's strictly solitary

I plan to continue my hiking in a different mountain range, but I needed to head back into town first due to the nature of the bus system.

For lunch, I had a huge flank steak with red wine for about us$6. My order was the smallest I saw in the entire restaurant. Most folks were attacking a sprawling multi-species selection of grilled items with a heaping side of frites. Later, I wandered down a street with chocolatiers at every corner. Cocoa smells wafted from each store, enticing me for yet another taste. Argentinian chocolate may not be as good as Belgian, but it's awfully close. Foodwise, I like this place. It would probably kill me to live here, but it's a wonderful place to visit.

IMG_0111.JPG
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Due to a bus fiasco (this will become a theme), I killed some more time by visiting the coast (including ice rink at the harbor!) and the local cathedral. (Why is it that whenever I'm travelling, I always end up looking at churches? It took me 2 years to visit the inside of the church right across the street from me back home.) The central square in town features teams of men leading bored-looking St. Brenard dogs (complete with rescue barrels) and charging tourists for photos. I sought refuge in the shadow of a statue with one of these men and his dog ("helmut"). I wonder what these dogs think of their lives. Do they like the attention? Do they know that they're being exploited? Do theycare?

Bus, take 2. I caught the inconsistently scheduled #10 out to the north section of the mountain park and was promptly left at the wrong stop. Based on the information from a local mountain guide's recommendation, I was now at exactly the wrong end of the trailhead and had a lot of pain ahead of me. In a foul mood, I decided to hike the loop in reverse rather than wait 2 hours for the bus to take me to the correct place. Good thing, too, since I made Refugio Italia just as the sun crept below the mountains. The hike itself was largely uneventful, though the last 1km was a bracingly steep climb up the end of the valley next to a particularly inspiring waterfall.

Refugio Italia sits at the edge of a high alpine lake, seemingly ready to fall into the valley below. It is so remote that the sole electrical supply comes from a small wind turbine. As I entered the cozy downstairs, all the residents were chatting quietly and eating dinner by the light of candles stuck in wine bottles. The power supply was used only to pipe argentinian samba (different from the better-known brazilian variety) into the room. The hutmaster showed me a free bed, threw an extra pizza in the oven, and introduced me to the other english-speakers. In addition to Tom the Judo expert from California, I met Manuel from Buenos Aires. A cellist specializing in classical and tango music, we had a lot to discuss. I supplemented the group's dinner with a truly awful boxed wine I had purchased in town. The argentinians informed me that they call the wine "tetra" (for tetra-pak, the packaging method) and that mostly teenagers drink it with fruit juice to mask the awful taste. At 2 pesos per liter (about 70 cents) I'm glad I wasn't expecting much, but it was the only option which didn't involve a bulky bottle.

Most of the folks at the refugios seem to be argentinian teenagers. I had a theory that because people marry young and immediately have children here, there is not much opportunity for a second childhod in one's 20's.that allows for ample outdoor pursuits. I was later told that Badialoche is a popular destination for post-gradutation trips, hence the concentration of teenagers with awful boxed wine.

Chile Day 4 - The More Things Change, The More They Stay the Same

Night in the ski lodge was cold, but bearable. I was repeatedly roused by unidentifiable noises, thinking about how the alone-in-the-abandoned-cabin scenario is such an important part of the psychotic/supernatural killer horror genre. I figured that my role was that of the pre-credits teaser sequence where I am offed by the kiler without seeing him/her/it. At the end of the first act, the hero would find my flayed corpse suspended from the rafters. Good thoughts.

The chorizo griller misled me. Fortunately, it didn't matter much.

I waited for a break in the rain and scaled the rest of the mountain. Arriving at the top, I imagined a proper breakfast and some much-needed warming-up at Refugio Leech. A large, inviting sign proudly announced "abierto" outside. But it's "abierto" in a totaly-locked, shutters-drawn, heavy-wooden-walls-covering-the-entrance-hall sort of way. After cursing Dr. Leech, Chorizo grillers everywhere, and Fate itself, I settled into the reluctant realization that I'd have to push onward with no warm breakfast or flush toilet.

Fortunately, there were Views. Oh, were there views. By the time I broke treeline I was treated to jaw-agape vistas of alpine lakes, gushing waterfalls, rugged mountains, and active volcanoes. My route was a ridge walk, granting me incredible views for hours. I'd describe more, but the photos will speak better than I can.

IMG_0066.JPG
Originally uploaded by wolftone.

When they existed, anyway. The views only came during breaks in the clouds. Otherwise, I suffered through a nonstop melange of rain, hail, and snow (often at the same time). Sustained 60mph+ winds didn't help anything either, driving stinging hail deep into my face. Ouch.

I would like to take a moment and thank my Marmot jacket for keeping my top warm and toasty, carrot cake Clif bars for important nutritional and psychological support, and my Black Diamond gloves for keeping my hands comfortable all day. While I'm at it, someone needs to take the designer of my North Face "rain" pants and force him/her into a meat locker with a strong hose and see how much he/she appreciates the experience. Jerks.

After a downclimb next to a glacial waterfall, I fought through the rain to reach my Refugio for the night. It's a warm, friendly, polylingual place with a well-stocked kitchen. I have a padded bed, an unlimited supply of blankets, and even a place to recharge the phone. Among the english speakers here is a perceptive MIT grad who figured out my Boston origins based on the labels of my gear.

If I'm lucky, maybe the rain will stop tonight and tomorrow's hike will be dry.

Chile Day 3 - On the Perils of being Flexible

As I crest the ridge, things begin to become Worrisome. I am halfway up a steep 1000m ascent with an hour of daylight left. I think I know where the refugio at the glaciated top is, but the chorizo griller at the base wasn't terribly specific. "People die doing things like this," I think. "Maybe this was kind of stupid." And then the rain hit. Hard.

But I get ahead of myself.....

I woke today to the sound of church bells. Mournful ringing from multiple sources filled the town. Might as well get up, then. As so often happens when I'm travelling,I gravitated to the town's cemetery. (Cementerio - I figured it was that or a cement distribution point.) A confusing tangle of concrete family plots, it reminded me of the cemetery in Vieques. Except that half the tombsones were written in German - a plain reminder of the 19th century settlement wave from central europe. It seems a common practice to visit the cemetery and pay respects after church, so plenty of families were out planting flowers and weeding the plots. I even saw a few plots with miniature christmas trees near the patriarch's stone, showing some serious family dedication and seasonal interest. (Also, it was still raining. Dedication indeed.)

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Originally uploaded by wolftone.

On christmas, I'd liike to point out that Santa Claus down here wears fur-trimmed red suits as well. When your traditions are coming from the northern hemisphere, it can cause jarring incongruities.

Then came some shopping for forgotten iterms: A plug adapter, the purchase of which ground an entire department of a supermarket to a halt. A towel, which required a bucket brigade of salesgirls to pass my item down 5 flights of stairs. And a breakfast pastry, stuffed with a far-too-rich caramel-like whole milk paste which seems to infuse all sweets down here.

My most incomprehensible moment of the day: A man standing on a horsedrawn cart, yelling as he trots down the street. He has nothing in the cart, so he can't be selling anything. Nobody is stopping to load unwanted items on the cart,either. Later, I see the same man and he is flagged down at a house. He shakes hands with the man of the house, then the wife loads a small child onto the cart and the driver hands the husband a potato out of his pocket. Then the cart leaves and the yelling continues. Did I just see a child sold into indentured servitude for a potato?

OK, it's probably not that poor here. But there are lots of signs of poverty, including a serious stray dog infestation. Most folks seem to regard them as a nuisance, shooing them awayfrom storefronts. Most seem relatively well-fed, healthy, and not aggressive. As seeing happy dogs makes me happy, I rather like the sight of all these pooches running around free. (Though I cringe when they blithely saunter into traffic.) One even adopted me for quite a long time on this morning's walk.

At the time I booked my ticket to Badaloche (argentina), I wasn't aware that it's only 25km away from Puerto Montt. That's $US350 for a round-trip 50km flight. Ouch. At least I can comfort myself with the fact that the bus trip is anything but direct and takes 6 hours. While negotiating a thoroughly incomprehensible immigation/customs procedure, I ran across a fellow countryman: Lynn has the unenviable position of teaching Geology and Ecology in Colorado Springs (otherwise known as Focus-On-The-Family Country). I'd want to get away from that if I were her, too.

Upon arrival in Bariloche, I began a high-speed information gathering quest to find out how to get into the mountains as fast as possible. Fortunately, the path I wanted to hike is serviced by city busses and the local AMC-equivalent has a helpful office right in town.

I wish I could have stayed there a while longer. It's a beautiful place, rather like a fusion of Berkley and Zermatt. It rests next to a deep blue lake and is surrounded on all sides by snow-capped mountains. People seem relaxed, happy, and fairly well-off. Crunchy backpackers coalesce with frisbees and hacky sacks.

I look forward to appreciating the town after my hike.

I had this silly idea that every cafe in Argentina would be playing a non-stop soundtrack of tangos by Abuele and Piazzola. Folks would bob heads and tap toes, unable to sit still to the infectious music. Turns out I was entirely correct! I should have practiced my tango more before coming.

About the hike: My plan was to roll into Va. Catedral and immediately take the funicular up the mountain to Refugio Lynch, where I would sleep and begin my hike the next day. Sadly, the lift shut down at 3pm and there was limited accomodation in town. I made the questionable decision to hike up the hill with the plan of completing the last hour by headlamp. Things were basically on-plan until the rain started. I knew that hiking above treeline after dark in the rain would be a special combination of Dangerous and Un-fun. Fortunately, this mountain is a ski hill,with many warming huts and other enclosed spaces on the way. Shortly after the rain picked up, I found a nice lodge with an unlocked door. (I complain a lot about hiking on ski hills, with their scarred terrain and idle machinery. For today, I eat my words happily, even the bitter ones. Especially the bitter ones.)

This is to be my unexpected home for tonight. I'm warm, have a roof over my head, and even an industrial carpet between me and the concrete floor. Not the best accomodations, but they're cheap and add color to the story of my trip. Tomorrow, I'll finish the climb to the peak and begin the hike in earnest. Cross fingers and hope that the rain stops.

Chile Day 1-2 - On the Advantages of Being Flexible

At first, I was worried that I hadn't done much planning for this vacation. What little planning I had done was already moot before I even left the airport. It has been raining here lately. A lot. Still is. Still will, for at least 2 or 3 days. As my first act here was going to be a raft down the Futalefu River, this didn't bother me much from afar. Who cares if it's raining when you're already navel-deep in glacial meltwater? Unfortunately, too much rain means too much water volume. The river is already on the high end of class V and the extra flow makes it too unsafe to raft commercially. On the bright side, I learned this by talking with a raft guide in the airport, so I didn't have to fly to Chaiten then bus to Futalefu for the same disappointing news. A bit of quick rescheduling later, and it now appears that I'm going to Argentina tomorrow. I'll be back here next week when the river chills out a bit. It's expensive to get there, but the hiking is supposed to be amazing and it does count as another country I can say I've visited.

Chile travel tip #1: When flying north-south, sit on the left side of the airplane. Once you clear Santiago's substantial pollution belt, the view of the Andes is incredible, and it lasts the entire trip. I'm actually amazed that this country has survived as a political unit. It's so narrow, long, and mountainous that I can't imagine administering it with horses, boats, and snail mail.

The language barrier is a bit high here. My spanish is pretty poor (but improving!) and almost nobody speaks English. Studying the phrasebook on the way in, I can now handle the following:: "What seems to be the problem, sir?" "I don't know how that got in my luggage." "Please don't detain me." "I wish to contact my consulate."

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Originally uploaded by wolftone.

Puerto Montt is described by Let's Go as the kind of place that you want to get out of as soon as you arrive. I agree based on what I've seen, though with the rain I'm not sure how many outdoor attractions I would want to visit if they existed.

Dinner tonight at the fish market. The core is a warren of men in rubber overalls gutting fish and shelling oysters, but the perimeter is a collection of tiny (2-3 table) restaurants serving apparently identical menus. If there is nobody in the restaurant, the staff is charged with standing outside and flirting with passersby. As far as I can tell, they don't even have names, only numberts. I chose the one with the nicest tablecloths and the least aggressive touts. In the end, I got some wonderful mussels, soup, and wine for less than a stick of Moose sausage would have cost in Norway. I think I'm starting to like this country.

I closed out the day at a concert in the old train station museum. The band's style seems to be somewhere between Jim Morrison and the ubiquitous peruvian pan flute bands stationed in Harvard Square. The drunk guy with the guitar outside makes some nice (if discordant) accompaniment.

That's it for now, I think. It's good to be here, even if things aren't going as I expected.