LLWorldTour

After almost exactly two months after the day I left Chicago for my ‘round the world excursion, I am leaving my new beloved home of South America and jetting across the Pacific to New Zealand and Australia. South America was never high on my list of places to go, but now I am so glad I’ve discovered this amazingly diverse place. From hot equatorial days in the lava world of the Galapagos to chilly, wet nights high up in the Andes of Chile, to the cosmopolitan beats of Buenos Aires, I’ve become enamored with all things Latin American—especially the language. I’ve amazed myself at my new Spanish vocabulary and will miss the conversations I’ve had with taxi drivers, real estate agents, and even policemen. I have never known or spoken more of a second language until now. Not even after four years of honors Spanish in high school was I able to converse and understand as much as I do now. Sadly, my time for Spanish is over until I reach Spain so many miles and months away. It’s amazing how all of central and South America, and now practically half of North America, speaks Spanish, but the rest of the world, besides Spain, speaks none.

Hasta la vuelta America Sur.

Right now, I’m sitting on my final long distance bus in Chile heading south to Punta Arenas—one of the southern most towns in South America. This three-hour ride is nothing compared to what we’ve been through the last few days…

Our Navimag boat arrived in Puerto Natales one day late due to the aforementioned rescue mission. This delay seemed to have some kind of trickle down effect that messed with all our plans for the next seven days. We couldn’t head right to Torres Del Paine National Park as planned because all the buses had already left for the day. So we shuffled around the small lack-luster town for the day doing the normal travel tasks–finding a hostel, some food, and some internet.

The next day we boarded a bus tour headed for Torres Del Paine, the most visited park in Chile. Three hours later we were inside the park…

We were picked up at our hotel around 8am and didn’t arrive at our hotel inside the park until about 4pm. This hotel was the most expensive one of my entire trip and was by far, not the nicest. In fact, I’d say it was one of the worst. On my cross country US trip, I’d stayed in a much cheaper lodge (surprising for the US) within the boundaries of Yellowstone National Park that was much nicer. I’d stayed in cheap hostels that were also much nicer than this. One thing I’m learning about the hostel lifestyle is that most are clean, most offer private rooms, and the best part is most have services way better than most concierges. I mean sure, there are a few duds, but thanks to word of mouth, I had been pretty lucky so far. Hostels can help arrange tours—almost always cheaper than any travel agency, they have free internet, they help you with transportation, bag storage, have kitchens, barbecues, and most cost less than $20 a night. The Posado Serrano hotel was dusty, smoky, and WAY overpriced. But it would have to do.

The park itself was beautiful. The jagged peaks of Torres Del Paine (‘blue towers’ in the original native language) rise up suddenly from the flat brown plains. The famous ‘torres’ of the park grace the covers of just about every Argentinean travel guide and calendar. But seeing them in person was quite spectacular—especially how they just seem to appear out of nowhere. There are some popular several-day hikes here where you can camp and hike each day, but we were definitely not equipped for that. And after my previous mountain hike gone awry, I was kind of glad.

At the end of our tour we stopped at Lago Grey and Grey Glacier. The ‘beach’ here was possibly the windiest spot (sorry Chicago!) I’ve ever been. The Grey Glacier forms the west edge of the park. It is about 5 miles wide at its widest point and is part of the southern Patagonia Ice Field which covers about 500 square miles of land. This makes it the 3rd largest in the world after Antarctica and Greenland. The Glacier was pretty far in the background, but the lake itself was filled with floating massive blue-tinged icebergs that had calved off the glacier and crept toward the beach. It was pretty cool in every way.

The following day we decided to head over the Andes into El Calafate, Argentina. On the map, it was practically a hop, skip, and a jump away. Yeah, right. Our bus picked us up around 1pm. We drove to the border town of Cerro Castillo where we were told we would need to change to an Argentinean bus that would leave at 5pm. We had an hour and a half to kill so we at lunch, browsed the racks of Patagonia souvenirs, and took the requisite bathroom breaks.

At a quarter to five, I moseyed over to the international police office just around the corner (it was a very small town) and was told (in Spanish) that the bus wouldn’t come until 6pm or so and even then, we needed a reservation. Huh? I spent the next half hour making sure we could get on this bus. Then I spent the following half hour getting a dude at the roadside stop to call a hostel from our Lonely Planet Guide, so we would have a bed to sleep in when we arrived in El Calafate, four L O N G hours later. If the roads were paved and the border patrol was faster, I’d say we would’ve made it there in less than two hours, but we spent a half hour at the border getting all the passengers passports stamped and then not one, not two, but three times, our bus actually broke down and wouldn’t start. We were in the middle of nowhere. No, actually it was the dead center of the middle of nowhere. The eerie shades of dusk (around 10pm—we are far south) were settling on the wide rolling plains and cattle ranches with the occasional cows or sheep were our only company (no sheep jokes please). Picture some kind of dry Arizona countryside where everyone speaks Spanish and all the roads are gravel. The vistas were gorgeous, but it was late and we were tired.

The final breakdown consisted of the male passengers getting out of the bus and actually pushing it until the engine caught and it started up again. Cheers erupted and we were on our way down the final stretches of our journey. We arrived in El Calfate around 10:15pm (9 hours after our departure in Torres Del Paine) to be pleasantly dropped off right at the steps of our hostel. But, of course, this was too good to be true. They had a sister hostel and we were actually booked there, so we’d been dropped in the wrong place. We lugged our bags back outside and about 4 long blocks away to our final resting place (at least for that evening).

The following day we had our tour of The Perito Moreno Glacier. It is often called the eighth wonder of the world by locals. And when we rounded the bend on the road approaching the glacier we could see why. It was ominously huge and looked like nothing I’d ever seen before. The gigantic ice mass sweeps down from the Patagonian Ice Field and collides into Argentina’s largest lake—Lago Argentino, where huge chunks of ice break off the face and crash into the water. The craggy glacier is about 220 feet high. BUT that is just above the water. Scarily looming beneath the surface it reaches depths of almost 450 feet. It is actually just one of more than 300 glaciers coming off the ice field (like the one we’d seen in Torres Del Paine). We took a boat that sailed right up to the face of it and then stared at it some more from boardwalks that led tourists around above the waters edge. It was truly an amazing sight and I’m glad we came to see it,
but we just felt rushed especially since the bus rides to and from Chile were becoming full travel days.

So we thought the day of travel to get to El Calafate was bad. Two days later, we left town to return to Chile. We were told the bus left at 8:30am. At 8:15am we arrived at the city bus terminal only to be told that the two buses going back to Chile that day were completely full and the next one didn’t leave until the next day. This was not the news I wanted to hear, especially after I’d finally given in to this cold I’m fighting right now with fits of fever washing over me every now and again. Good times.

I lurched into my next all out negotiation. My Spanish was really improving thanks to all these small battles I had to fight.

“There has to be just two seats. We have to leave today.” I urged.

“No, tenemos nada. Necesitas reservaciones dos días antes.” Coldly stated the gal at the window. We needed to make a reservation two days ago. Great.

I asked another worker. I asked the bus drivers. I made a sad face. Nada. The bus was full. Lleno. Finally a glimmer of hope, one driver said “maybe.”

“Por Favor,” I begged, “Necesito ir a Punta Arenas hoy porque salgo este país y voy a Buenos Aires mañana.” I told a little white lie, as I wasn’t leaving the country for two days, but really wanted to get down there so at least we would have a day to relax before another grueling travel day on airplanes.

“Tenemos dos asientos pero, un es en este bus y un es en otro bus.” They had single seats in each bus meaning we couldn’t sit together for the trip, but ride in separate buses that would hopefully arrive at the same time.

Fine. We’ll take it. We’ll rendezvous at the border. But then another minute later, another change of plans: Now, there was only one seat and one of us could sit on the floor. Andy gentlemanly sat in the aisle as all my independent feminism flew out the window. I was sick! I couldn’t sit on the floor!

We bought our tickets, full price—floor and seat I guess are the same price—and were off down the road. Only about a half hour later the asphalt turned to gravel and we crawled along at about 20 mph. It was slow going and bumpy—especially for the one lone floor passenger.

Finally, three hours later we reached the border. But this time we were in a totally full bus of nearly 50 passengers and everyone of them had to get there passport stamped and fill out a form. This fun task took about an hour. Oh, but wait there’s more. That was just to EXIT Argentina. After driving the 10 minutes or so through ‘no man’s land’ we stopped at the entry check point for Chile and once again went through the whole rigmarole. The positives were we could grab some tasty empanadas for lunch and say hello to the shopkeeper who helped us book our hostel two days prior. We were old friends by now.

Finally, we were off again and reached the town of Puerto Natales where we would need to catch the bus to Punta Arenas. And now we are back where I started on the bus. We will arrive in town around 8pm. A nice day on the road for eleven hours. This is all a lesson well learned that I refuse to rush around from now on or spend less that three nights at any one location. Now I need to get some sleep.

I’m actually not traveling alone in Chile. My friend and former boyfriend (a much longer story I will not go into here…maybe when my book gets published!), Andy, has joined me. But he’s not alone. He’s brought his trusty video camera and we are working together again. Sometimes this can be a tricky situation and I wasn’t totally sure if we should do it or not, but we decided that the scenery down here was too beautiful and unique to pass up. We are filming segments for Current TV—the cable television network that has also just banded with Yahoo to bring more video to the web masses. I am producing and reporting. I haven’t been an on-camera reporter since college…this could be a whole new career for me, or just a fun experiment.

My TV segment on the Navimag

Today, we boarded the Navimag Magellanes ship for a four day journey south into the mysterious and awe-inspiring Patagonian Channels. We will explore the tip of the Americas where Chile splinters into towering granite pillars, ominous glaciers, and fjords. Chile is a long narrow sliver of land almost 4000 kilometers or about 2500 miles long. The eastern border is formed by the jagged peaks of the Andes. And the western edge is all Pacific Ocean straight down to Cape Horn and Tierra del Fuego.

We actually left port one day late. Although the Navimag is mostly a tourist and cargo boat, just yesterday it was called upon by the Chilean Coast Guard to perform a special rescue mission. A much smaller fishing vessel had capsized into the frigid waters and the Navimag and its passengers were the only ones in the vicinity. The ten passengers of the other boat had gone overboard and up until now, we were told they only found one survivor. Yikes.

Even though this large ferry boat is not a luxury cruise liner going through the Caribbean with goofy dance classes, the Magellanes is still not cheap. Prices range from $350 for a bunk in shared rooms of 4 bunks each to more than $1500 for a private cabin and bath. These prices do include lodging for the three-night, four day journey, plus all meals, two on/near land excursions, on board movies and lectures. We opted for the shared bunks, but luckily the bunks we picked were at the end of the room and were actually separated from the others by a wall so we virtually had our own room. I say virtually because we had to imagine a virtual door where there was none!

On our first day I interviewed the passenger supervisor and met the Captain—Carlos Moreno. He was a funny man with a big coffee-stained smile who joked with us, albeit in Spanish, on the bridge (where the boat is driven). I would later do an interview with him basically using my best ‘Spanglish.’

The term Patagonia usually refers to the narrow triangle of land in Southern Chile and Argentina…or a cool outdoor clothing company. I actually spoke to a girl who worked for “Patagonia” outfitters before I left Chicago. I pointed to her clothes and said matter-of-factly, “I’m going there.” “Huh?” she replied. Hmm, obviously one of the requirements for working for Patagonia clothing was NOT having to know that it is actually a place in the world. Sad.

Many travelers dream of visiting here, but the realities can be harsh: there is a nasty persistent wind, winters are bitter cold, and summers are short. The area was first discovered by the Spanish by explorer Ferdinand Magellan (hence the name of our boat) in 1520. He was looking for a west passage to India and eventually found the elusive straits to the Pacific Ocean, which now, of course, bears his name. Sadly, he died on the much longer journey west around the world to Spain.

The ship itself was built in 1984, but re-outfitted for tourists in 2000. They actually built the ‘hotel’ part right on top of the cargo bed. It is about 400 feet long and can reach speeds of 14.5 knots. It has lots of deck space and a cozy bar and lounge area where folks hang out and sleep or read all afternoon. Annoyingly, many leave their coats on chairs “to reserve” them for the day which is a bit unfair as the rest of us have nowhere to sit.

The crew is composed of 40 members: 20 maritime workers and 20 who work on the hotel side. Each trip has a bilingual guide who is on-hand 24 hours a day to organize activities, answer questions and make announcements such as:

“Dear Passengers—please if you are finished with you dinner, please return your trays to the window. Thank you.” “Dear Passengers—we soon enter the Gulf of Penas (Gulf of Pain), please take your sea sickness pills now.”

Our guide was Kris, a kind of all grown up “Dora the Explorer,” with a long mane of dark curly hair, round glasses, and a frequent rhythmic laugh. We later interviewed her and she helped us out with all our filming needs.

As we sailed through most of the Channels, the seas were quite calm. But, as mentioned above, as soon as we ventured out of our protected zone and into the Pacific waters, things definitely got a bit hairy. Let’s just say many passengers lost their lunch and they didn’t always make it overboard either. Workers scurried to clean up the ‘mess.’

In keeping with their strict schedule with military precision, meals still occurred whether or not folks could keep their food down or their plate in front of them. In fact, oddly enough, they served pasta with meat sauce on the night with the most movement. So spaghetti went ‘a-flyin’.’

But, it wasn’t really that big a deal especially when you considered the meal. This was no 4-star restaurant, that’s for sure. Meals consisted of a roll as hard and dense as a brick, and some salad (if you’d even call it that) of iceberg lettuce and maybe, on a good day, a sliced tomato. Then there was either chicken, or pasta, or even one night, some chop suey creation. Sorry, but Navimag won’t be winning any James Beard awards anytime soon.

During our day navigating through the rough seas of the Pacific, Andy barely managed to escape his bed. We had both donned the fashionable motion-sickness patches, but the Gulf of Pain still got the better of him. I somehow escaped the nausea, although the patch itself seemed to make me feel groggy, and I’ve actually been fighting an achy, feverish cold ever since we left the boat.

On board, there were a good mix of nationalities–Germans, Dutch, English, Swiss, French, Australians and some Kiwis. As I’d been noticing throughout South America, American tourists were definitely the rarity. I found that since I was not exactly traveling solo anymore, I definitely met less people. There is an odd dichotomy that when you are alone you are actually way more open to meeting others than when traveling with a friend.

The weather during our journey was pretty dismal, but that’s pretty standard down here. Our time outside on deck was limited by our tolerance to a cold and a sometimes brutal wind that would even send someone dressed in their best Patagonia gear running for the indoor bar. Throughout the trip, we sailed through some pretty narrow channels of cold desolate land and saw snow capped peaks in the distance.

The most dramatic stop was when we sailed right up to the frigid face of Pio XI Glacier—the largest glacier in South America. This was the first glacier I’ve ever seen up close. It was huge and craggy and took on the ‘coolest’ (pun intended) shade of blue. We circled in front of it for about an hour until the hordes of tourists had snapped all the photos they could muster.

Our only other stop was in the tiny island town of Puerto Eden—a small fishing village of just 200 people. And 10 of these folks are the last remaining of the Kawesque (Kie-wes-cah) tribe indigenous to Chile. There are no roads leading here and the weekly Navimag visits bring in much needed supplies and a few tourist dollars that help keep this tiny town alive.

Our final night crescendoed in an all out bingo fiesta!! We actually managed to win a Patagonia hat which oddly meant I actually had to dance in front of everyone. The Navimag was a unique experience, but suffice it to say, we were pretty grateful to disembark in Puerto Natales with our feet firmly planted on terra firma.

It took me a more than a day to go from Quito, Ecuador to Puerto Montt, Chile. I left sunny Ecuador at six in the evening and later changed planes in Lima, Peru. Why am I not staying to see Machu Picchu? Believe me, many have asked and I really don’t have a good answer except I just decided not to now. I am trying to not cram in too many places on this trip and very high on my list was the Galapagos and also Patagonia. So I’ve decided to skip Peru this go around, but don’t worry—if you know me at all, you know this is not my last trip—not even close.

So, where was I? Oh yeah, jammed into a seat on an Airbus 320 heading to Santiago, Chile. I arrived in Chile at three in the morning the next day. My flight down to Puerto Montt and the Patagonia region wasn’t until seven thirty in the morning. So…after clearing immigration (where you have to pay a $100 reciprocation fee to enter country—we pay this because the U.S. makes Chileans fork over the same amount when entering our nation) and customs I looked for a place to crash. The airport was modern, clean, and mostly quiet except for night workers who scurried about mopping floors and doing overnight type things like construction work. I found a group of folks dozing in one area near the domestic flight check-in counters. I joined them and laid down across four attached red metal chairs and used my back pack as a pillow. I covered my eyes with the sleeve of my fleece jacket and tried to sleep. Not easy for me—a very light sleeper who has the very bad habit of having the need to sleep on her stomach. That’s just not possible in hard metal airport chairs. In between folks getting drinks from a soda machine nearby, and a few errant overhead announcements, I dozed for an hour or two and finally sat up around six-o’clock in the morning to collect my boarding pass and proceed through security towards my gate.

Now, normally sleeping in metal chairs would not be high on my list of fun nights out, but in the world of budget travel, I do feel like your priorities and standards change a bit. Don’t misunderstand me, I haven’t become a ‘real’ backpacker–sleeping on dusty floors and not showering until I can actually smell myself (or getting so used to my own stench that I don’t smell myself anymore). I definitely still set my standards at clean sheets and towels and of course a safe and clean place to sleep. And I was not looking forward to this sleepless night in an airport, but it wasn’t a surprise to me so I just took it in stride—well, ‘zombie-like’ stride. In life, we so often get caught up in minor inconveniences and make them major mostly due to our own overreaction to them. I’ve found that in the world of budget travel when you don’t expect too much, you are rarely let down. In fact, quite the opposite—since my expectations may be lower, I am often pleasantly surprised at my accommodations or my food or even a mode of transport getting me from point A to point B. It certainly allows me to appreciate the small things in life and appreciate the big things even more.